Front Page New York Times

Thousands of people have had their picture on the front page of the New York Times.

Aside from possibly Muhammad Ali, I haven't met any of them.

Except for myself.

Yup, my picture made the front page of the Times.

Here's the scoop.

I was sitting around my house one day when the phone rang. The caller was a researcher from the Times who was gathering information for a writer who was planning an article about feminism in America.

I hit it off with the researcher. I had her laughing hysterically as she asked me yes or no questions about feminism that I turned into short answer/essay replies. Most of my answers were coming from the perspective of a guy whose marriage was on the brink of ending and who was realizing how little he knew about women, marriages, feminism, and life in general.

I was skinny as a rail from the worry of impending marital catastrophe. I had even shaved off my beard for the first time in many years so I had a weird mustache working on the grill of a guy who still was learning how to wear the expressions on his face without the benefit of the beard to camoflauge a startling degree of vulnerability.

I was suffering from soberiety as well.

So, I was bitterly honest in my conversation with the researcher which she found hilarious.

She said that she would pass on my opinions to the lead reporter and recommend that the reporter get back in touch with me because, according to the researcher, my answers were not only honest and hilarious but as near accurate and sensible as any she had received during the entire process of the researching that she had done on the subject.

Sure enough, the writer doing the story called me back a couple hours later. Same thing all over again. Different questions....similar wounded, truthful, ironic replies. The writer had the same reaction as the researcher. Laugh,larf, laugh.

After about ten minutes into this routine she asked if she could use my quotes in the paper. I said sure.

The interview continued......the larfing, the wisecracking, the comedic pain, the receptive audience.

After 10 more minutes she asked "Can we use your picture?"

Again I said sure.

She thanked me for the various permissions.

I thanked her for the patient, active listening.

A couple hours later, I got a call from the local AP photographer. Would I be available for a picture in the next hour or so? I told him that I was ready now and wouldn't be any less ready in an hour... so come on over.

The guy showed up. Big guy. Big beard. 

He wanted to know for what subject the picture was being taken. I told him it was for my opinions on feminism. The guy took a spit take and asked me "well what are your opinions on feminism".

I told him that I was glad he asked. I'll rant them to you and instead of posing, you can just shoot all you want during the rant and then pick out something you like."

I only remember the beginning of the rant. It started like this:

"Women? I'll tell you about women!", slapping the back of my right hand against the palm of my left.

This was followed by a ten minute imitation of Ralph Kramden going off on "goddamned bitches" etc with forehead slapping, hand clapping, finger snapping, eye rolling gestures as Gleason-like as I could make them.

All made tongue through cheek.

The photographer was laughing so hard that he could barely snap the pictures. He took at least a roll of film during that ten minutes.

Remember rolls of film?

36 exposures.

Now all of this was pre-internet. I didn't have a subscription to the Times.

For the next couple of weeks, I went to the drug store near my house that sold the Times. I'd pick up the current issue, scan through it and put it back.

I was beginning to think that I had imagined the whole thing.

Then, one Sunday, I went to the drugstore. I didn't have to leaf through the pages. There it was. My picture, front page under the headline "Americans Assess Fifteen Years of Feminism".

And there I was.....mid rant.......palms up....shoulders ashrug....body language screaming "I don't know what the hell to make of it"

They included only one of my quotes in the artcle itself as apparently they figured they could let my picture do my talking and in retrospect....it kinda did.

After fifteen years, Americans didn't know what the hell to make of feminism.