Going IS knowing. And sometimes I just want to know...
Why is doing all this stuff important to me? I have no idea yet, other than I just get interested in something and then I go after it.. I remember that I always just feel compelled to get in there and see and experience things first hand..Is it simply morbid curiosity? Maybe, but because I am always so naturally willing to jump through flaming hoops to see things spectacular, I will continue my calling.
I think this information chasing obsession of mine originated in January of 1982 when I had just moved to Washington DC.
I was hired by the Washington Project for the Arts to assist in building a new performance space & gallery because of the job I did for my mom who is an awesome party designer to the degree that she was commissioned by them as an artist, to throw a party for a big “Texas” show that the “WPA” was putting on. I was a prop builder for mom back then and I managed to turn the whole place into an old timey Texas saloon and dance hall. I did a great job and with no resources other than some help from the newly inaugurated president Reagan’s bleacher committee and a lot of inspiration from being around all these real artists in there natural habitat.
Other than working week on – week off shifts 120 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico in the oil field, I had never really lived outside of Texas…
Be it ever so humble...
I had only been living there in DC for a week...The first big snow storm of the season just blew in…It was so cold that I was trying to warm up my socks by waving them over a kerosene heater and then putting them on as fast as I could to get a quickly dissapating sensation of warmth.
I was looking out the big storefront windows of the old Franklin 5 & 10 cent store that was now the WPA’s new home at all the snow floating around in the air which occasionally twisted into a furious white ghost that would spontaneously explode against a geometrical backdrop that layed up against a dim grey sky that filled in between the dark umber sillouettes of old brick brownstone buildings that stood guard to the wet black tire tracked street that was lined with black naked trees and fresh white dusted dirty frozen slush.
I think it was Petey Green (who’s radio show I really grew to love) who was talking on the radio as I teased the cherry red hot steel disc of the kerosene heater with dangling socks..
The voice over tha radio spoke of strange breaking news. In this big snow storm, an airplane might have actually hit a bridge, possibly the 14th street bridge and fallen into the Potomac river.. This was interesting, but I really had no idea what that actually meant until my new friend Anthony Cafritz, who was a young intern from Bennington College suddenly walked up to listen better to the radio. “Whoa” he said, “what the fuck is that all about?!? Lets go down there and see what happened”…”You mean it’s close enough that we could like run down there?” I said. Hell yes, c’mon, let’s go!” he exclaimed with the great ogling look for mischief that I desperately needed to see in order to instantly quell my fears that I’d given up fun friends from home with an insatiable apetite for adventure in trade for the “Art” experience… Thanks to Anthony, that was hardly the case.
Like the time when we were unloading the snobby featured artist work who’s name escapes me. Anthony and I were helping him take the work out of wooden crates when I said for lack of sophistication “ that’s some really cool shit man”.
The snarky snoot quickly addressed my lack of highbrow speak by learnin' me that “In the art world, we refer to this as a piece.” (you know what’s coming, right?) Suddenly, the man shape shifted from young turk artist into Ed Mcmahon,the straight man to Anthony’s timless classic reply which was…”You mean this piece of shit?”
That story lives in perpetuity at the amusement park of my mind.
There's the old boy now.
I digress….
So we took off out the door of the WPA and started running down D street towards 14th. as fast as we could. I had never seen snow like this before in my life. There were homeless people holding up colored umbrellas that looked like beach balls for a roof. They huddled there over subway air vents on the Mall lawn that was so contrasting that they looked like big black squares painted on a solid white background.
The snow was really coming down and people were actually cross country skiing between the capital and the Washington monument..I had never!
"C'mon Ben, let's keep going! This way" he said... I regained my focus on our objective and took off running again towards the 14th street bridge..Wherever that was?
By the time we got to the Potomac river Anthony noticed that we were only at the Memorial bridge, one bridge north of 14th street where we heard all of the commotion was.
The first sign that something funny was going on was when we saw that the police were directing traffic. They were only letting cars go across towards Arlington but not into DC. There were also a few reporters plodding on foot through snowbanks that were quickly piling high on the sides of the bridge entrance. They were looking south, trying to steal a glimpse of something that had happened on the next bridge down. They had big ID press tags attached to them that said Associated Press and The Boston Globe. They seemed composed and very focused on getting across that bridge.
Anthony said: "We oughta follow these guys, they know where they're going." The police signaled and blew his whistle for us to get back away from the bridge just as an old grey haired black man slowly drove by in a really old dark green pick up truck. The bed was almost filled to the top with a big white pillow of snow. I motioned to Anthony and said "Jump in the back, he'll take us across..The cops won't come after us, they're too busy!"
Anthony, the guy who always had a quick answer for everything, suddenly looked a little confused and sort of just stopped like he was kind of paralyzed. Time was of the essence as this old guy was half way by us...It was now or never...I sprang into the back of that truck like a breaching whale landing flat on my back and banging the back of my head on something that was really hard and pointed and close to the surface. Luckily I had on my thick wool hat. The old man began furiously banging on his back window at me. I could see his breath as he was yelling for me to get my motha fuckin ass out of his god damn truck!
I lifted up my sore head and looked out the back to see Anthony getting smaller and smaller as we headed west towards the state of Virginia..I sat up as the old man had quieted down as he had grown weary of the fight .
What!? We're about to be in another state?? You've got to be kidding me??!?!?
We were about 2/3rds of the way across the bridge when I saw the Associated Press reporter so I jumped out of the truck and walked over to where he was. From there you could see across to the 14th street bridge where it looked like there had been a bad car wreck or something, that's I could see without my glasses. Suddenly the woman reporter from the Boston Globe started yelling dramatically into the little microphone of her cassette recorder "It's utter pandemonium here on the 14th street bridge where Air Florida flight 90 has careened into the bridge and is scattered about the Potomac..bla bla bla...The AP guy and I looked at each other as we both chuckled at this idiot of a reporter who was fabricating the whole story from another bridge a half a mile away from where she said she was. I couldn't help but wonder if this happens a lot, I asked the man and he shrugged and said "It's a shame when that happens." I guess that answered my question.
We continued to walk to the other side of the bridge. He kept going straight on the road, I didn't understand why because the deal was going down to the left and up river.
I don't know what that guy had in mind, but I grew up in the country and so common sense would tell me to simply follow the river up to the other bridge. So I made my way down the snowy embankment towards the river's edge. There wasn't anybody around, it was quiet and I had it all to myself. It was really pretty. I had never seen a frozen river before.
I just kept walking, making my way across snowy boulders all the way to the 14th street bridge where I walked up the embankment. I saw that the road was closed as ambulance and police lights were going around all over the place. It was really trashed out with shattered glass and concrete all over and bashed in cars resting peacefully all around, next to what was a busted out section where the railing had been sheared off of the first quarter or so of the bridge on that one side. I guess the plane hit it on the way down.
The 14th street bridge as I saw it.
There was a police car barracade blocking the roadway and so there was no way I could get across until suddenly an red cross helicopter launched off the ground creating a huge white cloud of snow all around which not only distracted all the cops but rendered everybody snow blind for just enough time for me to run like a deer across 14th street and down the other side to the river where all the action was.
I arrived just about fifty feet up from the bank of the Potomac. There was a fireman closing the back door of a big ambulance truck-like vehicle that was pulling out as it's red lights began to silently go around. I asked him how it was going and he told me that there were six survivors in there and they were all suffering from hypothermia and that it was a miracle that anyone had survived considering such severe conditions. I remember my first glimpse of the huge broken aircraft that looked as though it had just been snapped in half like a toy. I stood in a stupor gazing out across the shattered ice and tons of ripped up plastic and torn metal debris that was strewn all over the place. It was so tragic. To this day, I'm still haunted by an imagine of the two hundred or so bodies that were bobing around lifelessly just under that ice.
Noticing that the firemen were hustling to get lights set up for nightfall which was coming soon, I joined in and made myself useful. Divers were standing by, zipping up their thick wet suits and donning tanks and regulators. An ice breaker was making it's way toward the largest part of the plane. It was obviously going to be a really really long night.
I ran out of stuff to do and decided that I had had enough. So I started up the hill only to find that almost at the top there were a bunch of reporters (including the AP guy) all standing around bitching and moaning that the police wouldn't let them go down to the river to see what was actually going on. Casually, I strolled up and said"Hey ya'll, I was just down there, what do you want to know?" Oh my God, All of a sudden I was completely surrounded by the microphone clutching extremities of at least twenty reporters.
"What's your name? What did you see down there sir?
"My name is Ben Livingston.. I'm from Victoria , Texas I was just down there helping with the lights and...Jesus, I must have sounded like Gomer Pyle to these people. I rambled on and as I did, I was beginning to notice how bloody cold I was becoming. My hands and feet were wet and suddenly I realized that I had no money on me and I had no idea where I was. In fact I really freaked out when someone told me I was now in the state of Virginia..Texans don't just walk across bridges into other states very often...Now that's down right weird.
A big man in a trench coat wearing a nice felt hat reached through the thick pack of reporters, took my arm and gently but firmly pulled me out with no resistance from the heard. He said "I'd like to have a word with you please." Uh oh..Was he the law? I didn't know but this dude was all business. Maybe I was in trouble for going down there..I had no idea but it was understandable that I could be in trouble...I was quiet. He said my name is Ike Pappas, I'm with CBS news and I'd like to ask you some questions. I said Mr. Pappas I am cold and hungry and for some reason, I'm in now in Virginia. I'm not going to say a word until you get me something warm drink and something to eat. He scowled and muttered something underneath his breath (as I studied the lines on his face)... I held my ground long enough for him to escort me up a hill to the Marriot hotel lobby where there was a fireplace where I could warm up my socks again. He gave me a hand full of saltines and a cup of coffee. And motioned that we to go towards a quieter area of the lobby.
There was a room full of pay phones. All of them had a line of these reporters three or four deep waiting to call in their reports.
Pappas' mic'd me up and asked my name..About this time, these reporters were getting interested in me again and coming back to listen for anything that they might have missed..
There was Mr. A.P. guy and as I began to state my name like Gomer again, I looked over and noticed the lady from the Boston Globe. I looked back at the A.P. guy and with all of my thespian genes I blurted out: " "It's utter pandemonium there on the 14th street bridge where Air Florida flight 90 has careened into the bridge and is scattered about the Potomac..bla bla bla....
Months later I heard that my ex girlfriend almost ran off the road in Houston as she heard this on the radio on her way to work.
Something that I didn't know until now...
Ike Pappas, CBS newsman
Ike Pappas, 75, the CBS newsman who reported, live on the radio, the shooting of JFK assassin Lee Harvey Oswald, died Sunday in Arlington of complications from heart disease. In 1987, he was among more than 200 employees laid off by the company.
Ike Pappas, in the light raincoat, broadcast live the shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald, accused presidential assassin. Pappas later worked for CBS and was a Pentagon correspondent.
Photo Credit: By Jack Beers -- Associated Press
I swear he still had on that coat when I met him, His momma would be happy to know that he had gone out and gotten himself such a nice hat.
Oh man, it's really late. I gotta get some shut-eye. I'll illustrate manana~
