A Face in the Crowdsource

Crowdsourcing -- it's the new panhandling. Or the new Tupperware, Avon, Amway, Mary Kay, Cutco, or more recent ones like LuLaRoe, cabi, or Rodan + Fields . . . all stuff one of my wives called "peddling shit to your friends." (Her apologies if you or yours are part of these obeliscal entities.)

Zach Braff famously used Kickstarter when he said that the brilliant script he'd written could never get made unless his fans paid for it.  The sympathetic public acquiesced, contributing $2.6 million to the cause.  After which, or course, the traditional film-financing engines did what they do and funded Braff with the $10 million he wanted. (Wish I Was Here has a Rotten Tomatoes score of 47% and a Metacritic score of 43%. Maybe it was the ignorance of the subjunctive mood in the title.)

Carbon Leaf's Barry with fans

More recently, and with less public snark, one of the two bands featured in a February G:TB double-bill two-night musical mini-summit (Carbon Leaf) launched a Kickstarter campaign to help fund their new album. With concerts a thing of the past (sigh), they needed an influx of cash to get them where they wanted to be. They asked their fans to help out with a collective $21,000 by this Saturday, July 25, to make that happen. Looks like the band and its fans, eager to hear new music, will be just fine. If they get just $200 more, they will reach a total of . . . $200,000. Holy crap.

So, uh, Random Idiots will be following suit next month to support our new record, A Fool and His Money. Link to the Kickstarter site coming soon.

Much, much, much more importantly, there's a crowd-sourcing site doing well right now that brings a bit of a tear to me eye, to quote Dean Ween.  Here's the story . . .

* * * * * * * *

Flash back to 1976.  The Bicentennial celebration has come and gone, the fireworks and fanfare for a nation have given way to back-to-school time. (You know, what families east, west, north, and south are praying for as we speak.)  A new school for me, one where I'd stay -- by the skin of my teeth -- for a dozen years. Also, a new sport. Football.  The European kind.

On the west side of Norfolk, our youth soccer leagues were the simplest they could be in structure. Your neighborhood was a team, and someone's mom or dad was the coach. Larchmont, Lochhaven, Ghent, West Ghent, and so on. It was co-ed for the first few years, then gender-divided.  It was an absolute ton of fun. I was mediocre at best, but I kept playing. Practices for my Larchmont squad were once or twice a week after school at "Brick Field" next to Old Dominion University, three blocks from my house. Games on Saturday in the home team's neighborhood.  Simple.

In a year or so, after we grew out of the "bumblebees" age for soccer and actually started to play the game a shade closer to how it was designed, we were assigned positions. Our scheme was incredibly complex. Forwards, halfbacks, fullbacks, goalie. In my later years (6th grade), the concept of "sweeper" was introduced. Blew our frickin' minds. So simple.

I moved around a bit, jacking up all the trades and mastering none.  I was mostly a halfback, which is where Coach Smith put the kids who couldn't score but also couldn't be relied upon on for defense. Also, my age 9 penchant for running around all game was the diametric opposite of that at age 49. But it was fun wherever they put me.

I made good buddies on that team. Strangely, I didn't have any school friends on that team. I think maybe it was because I was young for my grade, a September birthday, and a handful of kids I was pals with in school were on the older teams. I didn't love that everyone always questioned me about that, but as I got older, it mattered less.  Also, a number of kids from other schools were on my squad, and we bonded as we played together year after year. Years later, when I stopped playing community league soccer and played school sports, my circle of friends became nearly exclusively confined to kids at my school.  The situation was way better for me when I had my soccer friends.

One of those was a guy named Michael Cutter. He was our goalie, and like me, he was tall with rugged good looks for a 4th grader.  He went to our rival, Norfolk Collegiate School. (Our other crosstown rival, Norfolk Christian, was where Barry from the aforementioned Carbon Leaf was in school.)  Anyway, Cutter was a very good player and a friend. He'd go on to be a great high school goalie. But like I said, we mostly lost touch in high school because of my/our dipshit xenophobic insular ways.  We'd see each other at church or a hoops game 'twixt our schools and nod hey with a smile.  Sup, Whitney.  Sup, Mike.

I got better at soccer in those years on the Larchmont team. Years of dedicated practice will sometimes do that. I became a forward at some point, and one Saturday in 6th grade, I scored four (4) goals in an 8-0 drubbing of West Ghent. That was our last game of the season. Man, I loved the revelry and the congratulations I received that day. Not what I was used to.

The very next season, I left the Larchmont squad. Contract negotiations had stalled. Well, actually, it came to this: my school offered football in 7th grade. That was that, much to the chagrin of my old coach and a few of the nice parents who said I should stick with soccer.  The allure of the gridiron and playing sports with my best buddies was too much. Naturally, that proved to be a wise decision, as I turned into the tight end who managed to lead the Tidewater Conference of Independent Schools in receptions my senior year. (Ahem... that conference numbered exactly four (4) schools with football programs.)  It was a wise decision because I had a ton of fun playing football. I dated a cheerleader or two, I have plenty of old stories from those years, and my friends from those teams (a juggernaut who won 2 games in my final 2 seasons) are among my great comrades today.

Anyway, when I made the transition, I quickly became incommunicado with the old Larchmont team.  Great memories of simpler days, fading by the day but never leaving.

* * * * * *

Fast-forward to December 2005. My family and I have relocated to Norfolk, Virginia from the nation's capital and surrounding suburbs. My re-entry to the old hometown was nothing short of heart-warmingly revelatory to me: You can go home again.

The poker league welcomed me, the book club welcomed my wife, and everyone helped us assimilate into the circle of friends.  It was remarkable. There were dozens of new-new friends I met, people who'd transplanted here at some point before my return or folks I simply hadn't know growing up. Beyond the new-new people I met were the old friends that became new friends. There are a number of people that I just barely knew that are now my good buddies. Chums. Mates, as KT would say.

I have continued to meet great people in the 15 years I've been back, and I have sincerely appreciated that part of the experience.  Norfolk/Virginia Beach can play like a very small town. Some people dislike that aspect of the community greatly -- like seeing people you know wherever you go -- but I love it. Going through a pair of divorces in what can feel like a tiny hamlet (despite being an MSA of 1.8 mil) ain't no picnic, to quote D. Boon, but beyond that, I dig it.

Anyway, I digress mightily, but among the masses of those with whom I reconnected after coming home was one Mike Cutter. What a great dude. He'd gone off to Hampden-Sydney College and come home to work in the City's Economic Development office. For fifteen years now, we have seen each other at neighborhood cookouts, sporting events, birthday shindigs, our kids' school, church (on rare occasion), keggers (less rare), and work events. (You know, the things that evaporated into the virus-contaminated air.) We aren't best buds, but we're well past "Sup, Whitney. Sup, Mike." He kept up with the Larchmont team peeps a mite better than I did -- enough to know we lost a couple along the way, including the coach's son, sadly by his own hand. It's a long way from the old days at Brick Field, even as I drive by there all the time.

There's simply something about having known someone since you were 6. We catch up when we can, asking what's good and what's not so good in each other's worlds.

What's not so good in Mike's world is amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. ALS. Motherfucker.

Five years ago he was diagnosed with the disease formerly and then again known as Lou Gehrig's.  For several years, you would only have known Mike had the condition if you were looking for it. He was blessed in that regard, and there were a number of people who were diagnosed later than he was who have suffered much more rapidly and succumbed to it. That was a very polished silver lining.

The rest is more than a touch of grey.

At first, it was little stuff. A straw in a beer.  A noticeable effort to raise an arm to shake your hand. The Norfolk ED office is in my building, so I'd see him in the halls -- handshakes became me giving him a quick hug or a gentle pat on the back. He fell last year and broke his collarbone. The struggle has accelerated.

A GoFundMe page was launched last weekend. It says:

If you know Mike and his circumstances, then you have likely observed his life dramatically change in the last few years - particularly in the last 12 months.
While other options were seriously contemplated, Mike and Amy have decided that it’s best for their family to remain in their home - and the time has come where they need help in turning their home into one that is suitable for someone with his limited mobility. It is the intention of this GoFundMe Campaign to raise at least $150,000 to make some of the necessary additions and renovations to the Cutter home in order to accommodate Mike's disabilities. This will include, but not limited to, modification to home entrances, renovation of a downstairs room into a master bedroom, the addition of a downstairs bathroom with disability fixtures, a motorized wheelchair, a motor vehicle with disability accommodation, and any other ADA modifications.

There are also words from Mike himself:

In 2015, after months of testing on my right hand, I was shockingly diagnosed with ALS. For a while I lived without great complication due to the slow progression of my form of ALS; I have only in the last year or so felt its increasing debilitating effects. My arms are very weak - I’m no longer able to drive and I usually need help eating and getting dressed - and I am now having trouble with walking. I miss helping others, playing ball with my boys, and walking our dog. Other than mental anguish I am in no physical pain (unless I fall and bust my head open or break a collar bone - yep that’s happened). I am confounded with my current position, more easily angered and often frustrated; but despite my physical and mental battle each and every day with this beast, I’m still in good spirits and try to laugh at myself while remaining positive, faithful and hopeful. I’m most proud of my family; my 24-year marriage to my wife Amy, and being blessed with our sons Stanton (2005) and Archer (2009). We very much appreciate your willingness to help make possible this transition in our lives and in our home. With much love, thanks and humility, Mike

As of this writing, the GoFundMe page has generated $64,027 in a handful of days. 282 people have contributed thus far.  It's made me feel good that a good man is getting good help from good friends of his.

This is not a plea to give. At our ages (esp Rob, Dave, KT, and other fiftysomethings), we all know someone in need, and I am quite sure you all contribute to friends of yours in dire circumstances.

No, this is just a chance for me to open up about a sad scenario that won't end any happier, but to also appreciate some joy and human kindness in an era where it's underreported.  I feel better for having written it, so thanks if you took a few minutes to read it.  It's that . . . simple.

Be well, live well, do it now, not later.  Cheers, mates.