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Fame is fleeting, especially semi-celebratedness is, as I know very well from my own experience, and that is exactly as it should be. The earth spins around the sun, the constellations pass by, tall trees fall in the forest, their trunks chewed by chipmunks, and Johnny Larson, once the emperor of late-night TV, is now a small footnote, Walter Contrite, Dave Caraway, all gone, and in my category of fame, Men of Letters, there is no such thing as true celebrity anymore, no Hemingways, no Frosts or Tennessee Williamses, just Caramel Cream, Cashew Crunch, and Cocoa Delight. I am Vanilla.
Fifty years ago a writer could set out to write about the weekly doings of a small Midwestern town, and so I did, but now you need dragons or vicious criminals or diaphanously clad ladies swanning around as described by artificial intelligence. I am a back issue.
I accept this. I embrace it. I had my day. That day is past. Now and then a woman in her late 60s leans over and says, "My dad was a fan of yours" and I thank her. But last week, while changing planes at MSP, walking from Concourse B to F for a flight to LaGuardia, I heard a flight attendant say, "Prairie Home!" and wave to me, a guy edged up at Caribou Coffee and said, "I grew up on you," a filmmaker said he liked my work, and this little flurry made me appreciate the tremendous kindness of people, going out of their way to make an old man feel important.
The old world passes but there is always a place for kindness. I am of a generation confused by the Great Electronic Leap forward and this makes it possible for the young, even small children, to show us the way, and Lord, do they gladly step in and do it. I stand at the counter trying to figure out where to place my Visa card to make the reader beep and a skinny kid of 15 or so with wild hair and a cryptic T-shirt reaches over and helps me. This is beautiful.
"Thank you very much," I say. He grunts. Someday he may say, "You're very welcome." Or maybe characters don't say that in the fantasy graphic novels he loves, but nonetheless kindness is kindness. Instead of hostility ("Get out of the way, douchebag, and let a normal person through."), he made it easy.
I remember after a famous fashion model died in a horrible crash, the story in the Times said, "Though she was famous as a fashion icon, she was also well-known for how deeply she cared about her friends and family." The she was also well-known leaped out at me as perhaps the kindness of a copy editor who wanted to put a flower on the casket. It touched me. How do you testify to kindness? What evidence do you offer? You just say so. She was a great beauty and she had a good heart.
As a favor to a friend, I let myself get talked into going to his house one Saturday and hanging out with thirty of his Creative Writing students over wine and cheese. I don't necessarily approve of Creative Writing courses, I might prefer Correct Composition, but I was 20 once myself and so I hung for five hours and it was awkward at first but I knew what I needed to do: recognize each of them as an equal and a colleague. So we didn't talk about our previous work, we talked about what we were working on now, their ambitions, and I confessed some of my regrets and offered advice about things that didn't exist yet, and they felt honored, and it was a kindness.
The place to witness kindness is on the streets of Manhattan. Deadly delivery bikes go racing past through red lights and every step you take you witness acts of kindness toward the old and small children and pets and if anyone should fall, or falter, or show alarm, arms will reach out.
The American people are among the kindest on G od's green earth. If you think otherwise, you really need to get out more often and look around
This is a great country. Go out and enjoy it.
Garrison Keillor is an author and radio personality. His latest book is "Cheerfulness". Buy it at a 38% discount! by clicking here. Sales help fund JWR.