November 3, 2011, 9:14 PM |
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If you are working with municipal authorities anywhere in our nation and you intend to step into a hazardous environment within their purview, you WILL be required to undergo something called Confined Space Training. This has other names, of course, some of them muttered under one’s breath at 7am as one sits down, coffee hopefully in hand, to learn how many ways you can die in the dark if you don’t follow the rules. Of course, while this kind of instruction can sometimes seem obvious and overwrought, the lessons are necessary and good ones. It’s only when you’re doing a television series in multiple cities and in multiply hazardous spaces—and, therefore, doing a lot of CST—that it can become rather tedious.
From city to city, the training is similar but different, depending on the challenges that lie ahead. You hear a lot about carbon monoxide and hydrogen sulfide, gases that kill you in a flash if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, really, they do. You could be standing in a sewer and if a cloud of hydrogen sulfide in the proper concentration envelops you for even a few seconds, and you breath a bunch into your lungs, you’re history. It is not a joke.
Nor was this moment in our St. Louis training session. In this case, we were being taught to respect the electricity that powers the city’s light rail system. Our story would involve me (and therefore our six-man crew) climbing out onto the historic Eads Bridge to suspend myself over the extremely flood Mississippi River in order to understand the tremendous impact this massive span had on a 19th century St. Louis. Even today the bridge serves a fundamental role in the city’s transportation network and that’s why we needed training. Oh, no pun intended.
To reach the best point to climb down onto the metal framework of the bridge’s structure below we’d first have to walk onto the Metro tracks. At that moment, we become a serious liability to the City of St. Louis. If one of us screws up some poor office worker suddenly has a ton of paperwork to fill out. To avoid such a circumstance, we were shown this particular video.
Actually, I’ll spare you the horrific footage. You can surely Google it up if you really want to. See that Indian man on the roof of the train? Well as the video begins you see that he’s a hapless but generous soul who means only to assist his fellow Indian to climb onto the train’s roof. Apparently, they do this a lot in India, riding the train on the roof. But it turns out there’s a very compelling reason why they shouldn’t, as viscerally demonstrated a moment later when that same man forgetfully reaches up to stabilize himself, grasping the 800 volt catenary over his head. At which point, well, you don’t even want to know what happens. I’ll only say this much: I never knew an electrocuted human being would billow smoke from his crotch.
Needless to say, this jarring video moment woke a bunch of television hotshots out of their early morning, jaded boredom. But I suppose that was the whole point. For one, I will never take light rail, or any other kind of rail, lightly. I shall go out of my way not to electrocute myself, at least, not that badly. And I’m here as the Messenger of Death to beg exactly the same of you. It’s just not worth it, believe me.
Posted By: Don Wildman
October 25, 2011, 5:35 PM |
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I have never been to Hawaii before–my first trip. Somehow, though, I’m pretty cynical about this shoot, my head filled with sardonic preconceptions about the place: too many tourists in Hawaii, too many over-priced Mai Tais, too many of those women in the grass skirts putting leis over your head—and if that ever really happens those women could not be happy in their jobs. Hawaii seemed like an exotic surfers’ paradise whose wave had long since crested.
Right? Nope—pretty sure I’m dead wrong.
It’s my job on Off Limits to explore a city or region and uncover the true identity of the place, to understand its essence and report my insights to the audience. Well, here’s my one, deep insight on the whole state of Hawaii: AHHHHHHHH.
Gaping yawn, eyes close, neck muscles uncoil, breathe out and…
Hawaaaaaaiiiiii….
We often get lucky on this production; in this case, supremely so. From the moment I saw those green mountains at the edge of the Kauai airport runway, I thought, “Oh, this could be good.” Then I saw the view from my hotel room and case closed. “Thank you,” I quietly muttered to the universe and to the man back in LA who booked my room and I dropped my bag, shuffling to the balcony.
So right it is wrong.
Months later…
I wrote the above in my journal in Kauai. Now it’s months later as I write. I just narrated the episode yesterday for an October broadcast. IT’S A GREAT EPISODE! One of our best, I think, and while you’ll see a lot of fascinating and substantial stuff about the flip side of the Hawaii—the industry, military, and engineering of the place–this blog piece is all about pretty water, beautiful landscapes, and awesome chickens.
Nobody has a definitive answer why there are so many feral chickens roaming around the island. Might have been because the Polynesians who brought them to an island without natural predators, might have been Hurricane Iniki destroying chicken farm enclosures. Whatever the case, it’s another surprise and they’re actually quite attractive.
Visit the Na Pali Coast once or twice in life–it is an extraordinary, mountainous coastline filled with legend. We took a boat that billed itself as the wettest trip to Na Pali and..it was. I have a busted camera to prove it. A solid hit by a wave.
Then the beaches, the beaches, and the beaches.
I was wrong. Oh, I said that already. Well, I kept repeating it to myself the whole time I was there. Yes, there are tourists. Lots of tourists. And Mai Tai, I think, gets an inner eye-roll from the typical bartender. But there is something timeless and pure about Hawaii, an intangible spiritual vibe of the place that reaches down inside you. I’ve only encountered one other place that had such a vibe and, interestingly, it too was a heavily-tourist scene about which I’d made wrong assumptions: New Orleans.
And both Hawaii and New Orleans have a certain important quality in common. Both have populations that have largely arrived from different parts of the world. They are a mix of ethnicities and cultures which all stir together into a beautiful stew. See what happens when you put all kinds of people together in a warm and beautiful place and let them get along? They create something that can make you smile.
Posted By: Don Wildman
October 19, 2011, 2:38 AM |
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I have always loved vintage postcards—and, in particular, rummaging through old boxes of them to find good ones. I have quite the collection. Years ago, I embarked on a project to purchase at least one vintage card for every place on earth I’ve set foot, as many little villages as big cities and, in those cities, as many shots of favorite street corners I’ve stood upon in my time. The mission continues to this day with the eventual objective of one day compiling a tour of my life through postcards from other eras. That way, I’ll know just what the world looked like before I had the gumption to go and get born.
Plus they’re cool and culturally important. The history of postcards traces the development of modern industrial graphics, of photography, of advertising—it touches on so much that is a major part of modern American life. Once you delve into this history, you learn that the penny postcard was the email of previous generations and had a great deal to do with the rise of the US Postal Service. You discover that there was a time when you could only write on the front of postcards and not the back. Then, the official rules were changed to divide the non-image side into two parts, one for the message and one for the address. So you have the “Divided” and “Undivided” eras of postcards! Huh! And the lessons go on!
New York was a huge engine of the postcard industry. People have been sending cards home from the Statue of Liberty since the beginning. When I began my mission I was living in Manhattan—well, needless to say, I have a lot of New York City postcards in my collection. Here are just a few, along with some blurbs…
1909 card and interesting what attractions are featured: Macy’s, The Flatiron Building, and the Waldorf-Astoria, which would be replaced twenty years later by the Empire State Building. Also not in corner Teddy Roosevelt’s Great White Fleet, which would have sailed the world during the previous months. And was a big enough deal to put it on a postcard that has nothing at all to do with the Navy.
In case you didn’t know, today’s Madison Square Garden at 34th St. is not located at Madison Square. That’s down on E. 23rd St. But the original Garden was so famous that they elected to steal the name. 1910 card.
This regal train station was torn down in 1962 to build Madison Square Garden. Oops. But this travesty of urban renewal was the spark that started the campaign to save historical architecture in the city, so some good came out of it. But not much. New Yorkers to this day bemoan the loss, myself included. Date of card undetermined but look closely and note that the James Farley Post Office (“Neither Rain Nor Sleet…”) is under construction. So figure the card to be from 1910.
Check it out, amazing: New Yorkers going to church in droves. St. Patrick’s Cathedral. And notice how the pedestrians even then walked right out in front of the taxicabs–the ones being pulled by horses.
Not too much has changed about this view except the forms of transport. Which is sometimes the best thing of all about New York. Sometimes they leave well enough alone.
Here’s a PlastiChrome from the 1960’s, I’m thinking. Key to this: Washington Square no longer sends traffic around the arch. But even cooler? There’s an orange MG behind that city bus–and I own one today.
Posted By: Don Wildman
October 11, 2011, 5:45 PM |
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We shot our Boston episode in May 2011 at the beginning of baseball season. I’m writing this with fall a week away. Back in May, the Sox we’re coming off a horrendous April, scrambling back to a .500 record (equal wins to losses), trying to regain their swagger. They proceeded to spend much of the season in first place. But now, with the post season approaching, the Red Sox are in the midst of an inexplicable tailspin, struggling to hold off the Tampa Blue Rays to even win the Wild Card. Red Sox Nation is in turmoil.
As a Yankees fan, it would be easy for me to celebrate this unfortunate circumstance–but I can’t. First of all, in my heart I don’t believe the Yankees or anyone else can beat Philadelphia pitching this year so never mind the World Series. But also I had an important experience in Boston that has changed me profoundly. I went to Fenway.
I always wanted to go to Fenway Park but I didn’t live anywhere nearby and the place is always sold-out (I think they broke some attendance record this year). But everybody who truly loves baseball and the history of baseball knows that Fenway is the St. Patrick’s Cathedral of the Majors. So when I heard that we’d be in Boston shooting the famous Citgo sign for a segment I had to wonder…hmm…just maybe…
The Citgo sign, for those who don’t know, stands at a considerable distance from Fenway Park but when you sit inside the stadium it appears to be looming over the left field wall, the famous Green Monster. For some reason, it has become a beloved symbol of Red Sox baseball. I really can’t explain this, even having stood on the sign myself (okay, not actually on it, that was against the rules, but right next to it). Boston simply treasures its traditions and that neon advert is one of them.
The building upon which the Citgo stands is owned by Boston University and the very kind man who led us to the roof could not have been more generous when I kiddingly asked if he had any ticket connections. Turns out he did! Within a matter of two short hours I had tickets behind home plate and a sincere wish that I would enjoy myself. (Sir, thank you again)
What a gas. My first trip to a professional ballpark was as a very young boy when my Dad took me to see the Phillies play the Cubs at old Connie Mack Stadium in North Philadelphia. It was remarkable; I saw Ernie Banks, Ron Santo, and Don Kessinger. This was the proud arena where my father had seen his favorite team, the Philadelphia Athletics with Lefty Grove, Jimmy Foxx, and all those guys, win championships. I remember that stadium from that one night so fondly, especially after god-awful Veterans Stadium replaced it, a move that symbolizes for me all the atrocious Philadelphia sports years of my youth, wherein the Phillies and Eagles consistently sucked. Those days are behind us now and both teams really don’t suck now and have glorious stadiums to play in. But I carry my wound nonetheless.
Boston was smarter than Philadelphia. They kept the Green Monster right where it was.
Look at that thing. With its manual scoreboard and the gorgeous green, it screams baseball. As imposing as it is, it somehow shelters you; it makes you feel like you’re safe inside a space where special things will happen. It even makes you think rooting for the Boston Red Sox is the absolutely right thing to do with your life. Poised beside this edifice and then touring the magnificent structure, I couldn’t help but flash back to when and why I had bonded with my favorite sports teams. Somehow, the Phillies hadn’t done it for me as a youngster; they just lost too damn much–and Pete Rose was once personally rude to me in a restaurant, so end of story. I loved the Orioles for Brooks Robinson and Boog Powell but they were in Baltimore and where the hell was that? Hated the Big Red Machine even though I loved Johnny Bench. At some point I acquired a poster of Carl Yastrzemski and stuck it on my wall. I just liked his name. Yaz. I was almost a Sox fan! But, then, in 1977, something clicked for me when Reggie Jackson smacked those three homeruns against the Dodgers. And I was off and running to the New York Yankees.
Still, just in case, I keep Yaz’s card close by.
Posted By: Don Wildman
October 4, 2011, 7:03 PM |
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It’s a funny show, Off Limits–or rather, a funny business making our show. We spend 10-12 hours of a day shooting any given location only to watch most of our work, the lengthy explorations and interviews, whittled down, months later, to 6-8 minute stories that fit between commercials. And it is only right and proper that this happens (even I don’t want to watch me longer than that). Still, the harsh reality is that the vast majority of our labors never see the light of your living rooms.
So, as I pour over a map of New York City, I shake my head in wonder. It’s a MASSIVE METROPOLIS. No way we fit it into 44-minutes.
But this is a dilemma that we face almost everywhere we go. Rarely is “less is more” our shooting policy. We shoot like crazy, depending almost entirely on our talented production and edit staff in Los Angeles (Thank you, all. Thank you, Drew.) and the complex, back-and-forth process between production company and network to determine how the final version of each episode will look.
On a wet, dreary day in April, we head out in a cab with NYC explorer/writer Moses Gates to shoot a distant site on Staten Island. Our destination costs us $50 of cab fare and as we walk out onto the swampy bank hauling our canoes in a driving rain, I wonder if this was really worth the trip, or is this a piece that won’t inevitably end up in the Final Cut Trash bin. But once we start paddling out to what might as well be an entire fleet of giant, rust-bucket vessels, anchored and abandoned ferries and tugboats half submerged in a dropping tide, my mood immediately changes. Gliding past these silenced workhorses of the water, consumed by the haunting mystery of the sight, I’m entranced. Even the clammy weather seems suddenly comfortable.
We steered our canoes in-between and through the vessels, at one point floating across a ferry’s deck from stern to bow.
I had pushed for this day to cover the story of container shipping in New York City, how it was developed first here in the 1950’s-60’s and then went on to change the world. It seemed like a cool harbor story—but that was too large for a segment (I gotta start making documentaries or something). Instead we stuck to how it was tugs and ferries that generally made it possible to accommodate bigger and bigger ships in New York Harbor. And that’s pretty fascinating, too–without the tug there would be no harbor, plain and simple. And without the harbor there would be no New York. And without New York…well, that’s unthinkable.
Posted By: Don Wildman
June 27, 2011, 8:43 PM |
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No lie, Buffalo is one of the coolest stories of them all, the story of American industry gone wild, of innovation, dedication, determination and domination…by snow. But snow is only part of the story, albeit a pretty big part. Allow me to pass on this fascinating tidbit of weather trivia I learned while talking with a local. When the winters are warmer, Buffalo gets more whacked. Huh? Well, see, global warming has made the famous “Lake Effect” that much more effective. Higher temperatures mean less freezing of the lake, more evaporation of water into the air and, thus, more snow. As our planet warms, poor Buffalo piles up.
My inner child howls with joy at snow. I love it; I want to be ten again in my hometown sledding on the hill behind the Catholic church. So, when I looked out the window in Buffalo one March morning at dawn as flurries began lying down upon the streets, I felt the old joy. Hurray! A good, old-fashioned, Buffalo dump!! I’d finally get to see one! Later, though, tromping through a buried intersection, trying–and failing–to record a promo for Travel, snow and mist clouding the lens, snowdrifts tripping up my cameraman, it wasn’t hard to see how relentless snow in Buffalo becomes a real pain in the municipal ass, not to mention seriously depressing to its citizenry.
But, wait–I’m falling into the trap of seeing one of America’s proudest urban tales through the narrow lens of The Weather Channel. We made our show about Buffalo to address the fact that this city is far more than just a meteorological victim. It is one of the most significant settlements in this country; a city which long ago earned its stripes in the endless march of history. Buffalo was the staging ground for much of what would create “The American Century.” As the 1800’s wound to a close, Buffalo had hit its stride as a bastion of industrial manufacturing. It was the city where the Erie Canal began, where grain, chemicals, and steel were king, where the first modern electrical utility was created–which, as we all know, basically made the world we have today possible.
So when you think Buffalo, thank Buffalo…for much of what we take for granted began in Buffalo.
We spend about two weeks in town when we shoot our shows—that’s two weeks on the origins, heritage, and contemporary identities of great American cities. By the time we leave I’m pretty well-schooled on what makes each city tick. I left Buffalo with more than just a fondness for hot wings (actually, I don’t much care for the things, gnarly little body parts piled up on a plate); no, I left totally impressed by the more elegant sides of town. The Olmstead-designed city parks, the fabulous Albright-Knox Art Gallery, the great neighborhoods of Allentown and Elmwood, the buildings downtown, and that only scratches the surface of the mixed-ethnic delights available elsewhere. Buffalo has certainly taken its share of knocks over the decades but that’s beginning to turn around in a big way…just watch.
Posted By: Don Wildman
June 21, 2011, 3:46 PM |
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The Tennessee River lumbers through in its flooded, springtime condition, raised above its banks, making trouble in the most passive-aggressive of Mother Nature’s ways. Floods are funny things—I don’t know much of them really, being where I’m from in South Jersey, where little or nothing bad ever happens, weather-wise. Floods just kind of…occur. Well, there are flashfloods, of course, that’s different, but this kind of flooded river is more of a normal thing in a wet season and that’s just life in a world that has always lived with a river like the Tennessee.
Getty Images
Eastern Tennessee is WET—lots of water everywhere—I stood within Raccoon Mountain near Chattanooga, having caved for an hour or so, standing breathlessly on the floor of a cavernous room (literally) watching a dramatic, 50’ tall waterfall pour down from the ground above our heads, crashing to rock floor below and I thought how this state is utterly saturated, inside and out. I mean, it’s not the Amazon rainforest but it’s still a river or creek in every valley and seeping limestone down every tunnel–the very reason it’s considered one of the great spelunking centers of the world with cave systems reaching deeply, dangerously, infinitely, into the earth. The waters are always busy in eastern Tennessee, even when they don’t look like it.
But water is never busier than every night when mankind puts it to work, making electricity on the other side, on the outside of Raccoon. We do a lot of water stories on Off Limits. Honestly—and I know this sounds ridiculous but what the hell–before we started shooting this series, I had no idea how vital water was to our society. Stupid statement? No, it’s not. I’m telling you, if it wasn’t a better idea doing television about No Trespassing zones I’d be pitching a show about that clear, odorless liquid we have to drink everyday or die. It matters in every single regard and in every avenue of life. It permeates, percolates, prohibits, and permits; it promises and provides then turns around and rots out the wooden floor you’re standing upon. It is everything good and bad at exactly the same time—and until we’re thirsty or until it’s cresting up a riverbank on its way to our front doorsteps we don’t give it the credit it deserves. Lucky us, the stuff falls right out of the sky on a regular basis–and such is life.
At Raccoon Mountain Pumped Storage Plant the water is moved at night from the Tennessee River 990 feet up the mountain to a manmade reservoir on top, then released the next day to make hydro-electric power—every day. Part of the enormous TVA presence in the area, what turned this part of Tennessee from backwoods holler back in the 1920’s to the sophisticated, happening region it is today with great and growing cities like Chattanooga, Nashville, and Gatlinburg. TVA is everywhere in this part of the world. And what does it do? It manages water. Because in Tennessee it’s everywhere. Right– I think I said that already, didn’t I?
Posted By: Don Wildman
June 13, 2011, 8:42 PM |
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I’m a little frustrated by the tone of our society these days. I realize there’s a whole lot wrong out there and people—especially those who don’t have jobs and do have children—are hurting in ways I can’t fully grasp. But I do try. Thus, sometimes I understand the intense anger presently directed against the Federal Government as it does seems–from that perspective, at least–that Washington DC is a miserable morass mainly out for its own good and if we don’t cut it off at the knees then we’re going to be swallowed up in its Big Brother bohemoth-ness. Yeah, some days that makes a lot of sense to me. And then there are the other days…
What can I say, I’m a glass half-full kind of guy. Where the government is concerned I have seen way more good than bad in my lifetime, from interstates that connect the nation to mafias brought down to gigantic aircraft carriers that actually float to men stepping onto the surface of the moon. Today I’m looking at one more example of that goodness embodied by a big piece of concrete.
Roosevelt Dam; it’s part of the Salt River Project in southern Arizona, the utility which supplies water and power to the Phoenix region. There wouldn’t be a Phoenix without it and the four other dams which gather water into huge reservoirs. Roosevelt is the first of the dams and it was erected in 1911 in massive, federal effort known as the Water Reclamation Act of 1903. See, back then, there wasn’t even a state of Arizona; it was a territory, managed by the Feds. The only way that Arizona would ever be a place where Americans would thrive and multiply would be if water was available for agricultural and residential uses. The only entity that could make that happen was the federal government. And the guy who most believed in this powerful role that government could play was Theodore Roosevelt.
So I’m standing beside this massive dam—which incidentally was refurbished very recently , hence the fresh, new look of the thing—and thinking kind thoughts of our federal system of government. See, I just can’t get angry (or livid as some people are) when such gratitude and admiration is what I presently feel. How should I feel? I love my country—and a lot of what I really love, the dams, the highways, the bridges and battles won—were fought for and accomplished by the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT. So where do I get off biting the hand that feeds me? Because they take my taxes? Well—yeah, doesn’t somebody have to pay for this stuff??
Sorry, public works make me reflective. Share your thoughts/comments. But try to answer as if you’re standing beside a big freaking dam.
Posted By: Don Wildman
June 13, 2011, 8:42 PM |
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I was born into a large family and I was the youngest. Thus, I only ever met one of my grandmothers; both my grandfathers and one grandmother had died long before I was born. My dad, who was a very fit guy right into his sixties (when he suddenly got sick and passed on), used to say, “Don, men die earlier than the women. You better be ready.” Unfortunately, in his case, he was right. But, Dad, call me stubborn; I have other ideas.
I just met and worked with a guy named Clay, age 81, who lives in the desert outside of Phoenix near the Superstition Mountains—or, rather, right next to them. Clay is a gold prospector. Now I heard this, that we were going to cover a gold prospector doing his thing, and I immediately presumed this man to be a quirky, eccentric type with a pick-axe and a shovel, a mule behind him, hauling a whole posse of fish stories about gold: “The ingot that got away.” How wrong I was.
The guy knows gold. And without giving away the segment, which you should watch, here’s a few steps in the processing of gold, in the hands of Clay. (one more example of a man pursuing his name…Clay…prospecting…you know)
This picture does not do justice to the intricacy and cleverness of the system Clay has in place to extract the gold flecks from the soil. You would be impressed. Maybe it’s because I knew nothing about gold processing but I was most impressed by the inventions evident in this photo. The system is known as “wet gravity separation” and is exactly that, a system designed to use water to float away the lighter sediments of sand and dirt from the heavier pieces of gold. As the soil moves through the system, more and more worthless sediment is separated from the gold until finally—and this takes a few months in Clay’s operation—enough gold has been collected to smelt and pour a bar.
So I got turned around in the desert. Age is meaningless. I mean, it’ll eventually kill you, but in many cases that doesn’t mean you’re any less impressive later on. In fact, you just get richer—even if you haven’t found gold.
Posted By: Don Wildman
June 13, 2011, 8:42 PM |
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So psyched to shoot the Arizona episode; it’s been years since I was here.
Beautiful state—although, come to think of it, the last time didn’t go so well. Had one of my two worst physical injuries of life while shooting a mountain-biking segment on a sportsman show I did back in the late-1990s. Somebody that day came up with the BRILLIANT notion that I should descend the “Devil’s Staircase” in Sedona. Gulp. Perhaps you’ve heard of this (absurdly) steep trail in those infamous red-rock hills—it’s lethal. My guide that day told me privately I was crazy to do it—and so I did it anyway and then proceeded to hit a rock, sail directly over my handlebars, and position my shoulder (not to mention my head) squarely against the side of an imposing boulder, knocking myself out cold and snapping my right clavicle in two. Ow.
Now it’s ten years later and I carry my pointy, protruded bone as a badge of courageous stupidity, if there is such a thing:
Gross, huh? Anyway, higher roads…today we covered the Biosphere 2 down near Tucson which I found utterly remarkable. I had a little trepidation about the segment as I knew nothing about the place except that back in the 1980’s a bunch of people tried to live inside the thing for two years and that once Pauly Shore made a really bad movie about it I saw on cable.
But Bio-Dome actually had nothing to do with Biosphere and the fact is, Biosphere 2 is now a really important earth-science laboratory for all kinds of scientists busy comparing the contained ecosystems (desert, rainforest, ocean, savannah) with those in the real world. I jumped into a glassed-in pit with a Dutch scientist to look at the soil in a way normally reserved only for dead people. I got to swim in the million-gallon “ocean” where I did my own water-ballet.
Then I operated THE LUNG. Hard to explain the lung, guess you’ll have to watch.
Biosphere 2, it turns out, is just cool.
Posted By: Don Wildman
