VOLCANIC ASH

By David Shapiro

When Linda Lingle was gearing up her second campaign for governor, I met her for coffee at a popular shopping center to catch up on what she was doing.

Virtually everybody who passed us gawked at Lingle, and quite a few stopped to offer greetings or an opinion about the issues in the campaign.

Lingle's graciousness went beyond the reality that she had to be nice to these people because she was running for office and needed their votes.

She became truly engaged in each conversation, projecting real interest in what people had to say.

"It must be hard living in a fishbowl," I said. "Eyes always on you, everybody knowing who you are."

"Not at all," she replied. "It comes with the territory and I enjoy the interaction. You must get some of the same thing with your picture in the newspaper every week."

"It's not the same," I said. "It's like people are not sure who I am, but feel like they've seen me somewhere. When I see people looking at me, I instinctively check to see if there's something disgusting hanging out of my nose."

"Well," Lingle said, "wouldn't it be a nicer world if everybody treated others with the respect and courtesy they'd show if they thought everybody was watching and knew who they were?"

Indeed it would. I recognize a person's gift when I see it and took what she said to heart.

I'm usually a mellow guy when I'm out and about, but I have my bad moments like anybody else.

I resolved that no longer would I be seen quibbling with colleagues and family members, angrily honking my horn in traffic, rudely jousting for position in line, bawling out customer service people who are just trying to do their jobs.

I decided I'd make it a point to act more friendly and look back at people who looked at me instead of moving around with my head down.

As a result, my stress level is reduced and a lot more interesting people stop to talk.

Among those who stick out is the fellow who cleans one of the restrooms at Ala Moana Center, who turns out to be one of the most informed and intelligent observers of local public affairs I know.

He always leaves me with valuable perspectives on what people are thinking. He told me his name, but I call him "Sir."

The one thing that still gets my dander up is when I think my grandchildren are being mistreated.

So it was last week that I found myself yelling at two blind people.

I had my grandkids with me in a government building and wanted to buy them a snack, but racks blocking the snack shop door made it impossible to enter in my wheelchair.

Instead of making a fuss about the lack of accessibility, I gave 8-year-old Corwin some money to go in by himself to buy what he and his sister wanted.

He soon returned empty-handed and upset that he'd been impolitely kicked out of the shop despite having done nothing wrong.

That sent me to the door bellowing for an explanation. It turned out that the vendors were blind and nervous about having a little kid running around touching their stuff.

I explained my situation, they let Corwin back in to make his purchases and we ended up making nice.

I couldn't help giving thanks that they couldn't recognize me.

It's true that character is what you do when nobody is looking, but image is the thoughtless things you do that others see.

David Shapiro, a veteran Hawai'i journalist, can be reached by e-mail at dave@volcanicash.net.