My new "Crayons DELUXE!" is dedicated to ...

(893 words)

Spoiler alert!

It’s dedicated to Dave Carfang (first on right above).

The dedication, and forgive its indulgence, reads in full, “This book is dedicated to the joyful souls whose laughter is so explosive, so infectious and so euphoric it makes storytellers run red lights when we think of anything so provocatively funny it just might do the trick.

“Thus, this book is dedicated to our friend Dave Carfang.”

Who’s Dave Carfang?

A son of the great Dick Carfang and nephew of Ed Carfang (also great), Dave and I became friends in about 2005. He came into my life a year before our daughter Lucy (she’s great, too, just in ways that have nothing to do with running a swell neighborhood tavern).

The June 2006 introduction of Lucy necessitated a .075 mile move from our cozy little starter house to a 3-bedroom split level up in the woods above Youngstown.

The house is wonderful. Two fireplaces, vaulted living room ceilings and an elevated back porch that looks deep into the lush sylvan part of Pennsylvania.

One problem: no obvious space for a home office.

That meant I’d either have to find a cheap — really cheap apartment — or secure gainful employment at an actual office.

Kidding! The cut-rate apartment was the only option.

I talked to a bunch of friends and the cheapest offer was $250 a month for way more than I’d need.

I was lamenting the situation to Dave one day and he said, “I have a place upstairs I’ll let you have for free!”

I shrewdly negotiated up to $150 a month. But for the next eight years it was perfect. It was shabby, but it had a full kitchen and a shower. 

Best of all, 37 steps from my desk was The Pond in all its glory.

I like to tell people that if I wasn’t on my bar stool by 4:30, guys would start banging on the ceiling. That’s an artful lie.

I was always on my barstool 30 minutes before the rest of regulars got there.

I’ve been lucky in my friendships since, gee, about 3rd grade. I think it’s because I stroll through life with what’s been described as a shit-eatin’ grin, a phrase I’ve never understood.

I wear a violent frown if I bite into a stale Cheeto.

I guess I appear sufficiently goofy enough that serious people never look at me and say, “Hon, let’s go sit next to that guy. He looks real serious, too.”

But The Pond was unique. There were every day about a dozen lively personalities seated elbow-to-elbow engaged in the kind of banter that enriched not just my writing, but my every day.

Regulars included cops, lawyers, coaches, electricians, postal workers, teachers, reporters, mill workers, accountants, mayors, farmers, car salesman and me.

And we all came and we all stayed and stayed and stayed because we all loved Dave.

I remember Val asking after one marathon session what we men talked about for all that time. I said, “We talk about sports, we talk about politics and we talk about how different our lives would be if we went to a bar where women went.”

Some times our wives — and by “our” wives, I mean “my” wife — got justifiably angry when “we” stayed too long.

But on some days the camaraderie was too perfect, too rip-roaring, to depart. And then Paul would come in and it would get even better. And who can leave a bar when Paul’s in there?

And I mean what I say about trying to be funny just to make Dave laugh. Sure, I had a vested interest.

See, Dave used to put classic sports trivia — real brain twisters — on the electronic bar chalkboard. We’d maniacally puzzle over the answers for hours.

That was the glorious days prior to infernal smart phones. I’ll never forget the day Dave berated two young guys who spoiled the fun by looking up the answer to the question, “Who is the only MLB player to hit an inside-the-park, grand slam, walk-off home run?” (It’s Roberto Clemente).

“That’s it,” he said. “No more bar trivia!”

Of course, great bar trivia’s loss became my gain.

Dave began putting my tweets of the week on the board. As he’s never owned a smart phone, much less a computer, I’d dutifully print them out for him. Having my very own public twitter board did wonders for my following, at least among staggering local inebriates.

The very first one he used is now No. 644 (out of 1,001) in “Crayons DELUXE!” It is: “A gym beam requires steady footwork. A Jim Beam isn’t nearly as fussy.”

So life moves on. What was once perfect is now past.

I’m now happily lodged in the Tin Lizzy — and there are a bunch of stories about my 2-year tenure there among the 57 essays in the new edition. And I still enjoy going to The Pond to watch sports while acknowledging things change.

More about the new book tomorrow.

But today I am moved to salute our good friend Dave and his pivotal role in doing something that made so many so happy for so long.

Men like him do something every day that make men like me want to be sharp, to be funny.

To, by God, be alive.

So do readers like you.

Related …

Farewell, Pond office! I am outta here …

I’m being evicted from The Pond

The Pond is for sale! Anyone wanna buy a bar?

It’s a bobblehead world

Bar book signing Thursday!

The Pond’s new bartender debut … Me!

Regular bar patrons need personal seat licenses

“I love you, men!”

I pranked the trash man today

Someone keyed my car! Suspects abound

Thirsting for bar conversation

Zombies at The Pond

Speaking in Mrs. Rogers' Neighborhood

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It’s been said whenever Sean Spicer takes the podium he is speaking to an audience of one, President Donald Trump. 

I now know the feeling.

I was invited to speak to a Latrobe women’s social club at DeNunzio’s in The Arnold Palmer Regional Airport. What’s the only thing that could make it feel more hometown Latrobe than that?

Mrs. Fred Rogers would be attending.

Now, I can’t remember who told me that, if it was the organizer, a restaurant staffer or if I dreamed it, but as I was walking across the parking lot, I was struck by the recollection that Joanne Rogers was going to be among the 30 or so women.

She in 1951 married the man we should by all means call Saint Fred and was with him until his passing in 2003 at the age of 74. President George Bush in 2002 awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2002 for his legendary role in children’s education.

One of my favorite Fred stories is how in 1969 he was called before U.S. Senate Vietnam War hawks to justify money spent on children’s television instead of bombs and bullets. They wanted to slash the PBS budget of $9 million.

Then Latrobe native son Fred Rogers spoke.

He told of the importance of public television and how positive messages can shape young lives. Committee chairman John Pastore, who’d never heard of Rogers, said the testimony gave him goosebumps.

The funding was not cut, but instead increased from $9 million to $22 million.

He’d spoken for about six minutes.

And his wife was coming to hear me speak for 30!

I’m not saying I imagined strolling out of the airport with a check for $22 million, but I was optimistic significant opportunities might blossom. But it was risky. My talks include a sprinkling of profanity, adult content and nods to the joys of every once in a while going on benders with your buddies.

I decided against tempering my talk for my audience of one. 

I was introduced and spied the crowd. Mrs. Rogers was at table 5!

An early test came when I deploy the risque line about questions posed by “Use All  The Crayons!”

I say it asks why are we here? What is the meaning of life? Then it asks questions only important to me. Questions like: If fans of the Grateful Dead are called Deadheads, what does that make those of us who revere the book Moby Dick?

Yes, I’d just inferred I am a Dickhead in front of Mrs. Rogers.

Her reaction?

She roared with laughter. So did everyone else.

Another test came when I told the drunk-in-church story. I tell how Val is our Lutheran church organist and about how she almost ended our marriage because of the time I showed up drunk.

“Yes, I came stumbling right up the aisle right in the middle of the sermon. I was singing ‘Just a Closer Walk with Thee’ … And I wasn’t wearing any pants.”

Joanne — by now I felt we were on a first-name basis — looked alarm. Was I losing her?

“Really, I think the only thing that saved our marriage was I’d gone to the wrong church.”

Uproarious laughter. Then I confess the story is pure bullshit. None of it ever happened.

Telling stories like that is one of the benefits of colorful living. I tell them 911 could get a report of a man wearing nothing but a Speedo robbing the bank and they’d say, “Oh, don’t worry. That’s just Rodell being colorful again.”

It was a triumph. They loved me.

Afterwards, they lined up and bought up every book. A complete sell out. Many authors consider selling to 10 percent of the audience a success. I was right at 50 percent.

One of the last ones in line was Mrs. Fred Rogers and she was beaming.

I stood up and thanked her for coming. I told her I knew who she was.

“And I know you!”

You do?

“Well, we’ve never actually met, but my husband’s talked about you. He’s Jake, the plumber from Cooperstown.”

Cooperstown is a social club I frequent. To my knowledge Fred Rogers has never been there and I’ve never witnessed a seance summoning his spirit.

And what’s your name?

“I’m Betty. I retired from the Post Office. I remember you coming in to buy stamps.”

I use a pseudonym to spare her any public embarrassment. Jake and Betty aren’t their real names. 

And they sure aren’t Fred and Joanne.

Oh, well. It was a truly beautiful day in the neighborhood. I made some new friends and enjoyed another euphoric reaction. I feel blessed.

And just because you every once in a while knock on the wrong door doesn’t mean you aren’t in the right neighborhood.

Related …

Bird watching in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

The giant Trump who ate Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

The killing in Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood

The Great American Banana Split & Bank Robbery Fest

Moving Mom to Latrobe

Binge watch ... me! My new (and old) videos

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(Note, Jan. 23, 2017: Let me cut to the chase; because I did so badly on the new video, I'm going to submit this one until I can do another one like it, only snazzier. Thanks for reading!)

After previewing my most recent promotional video, I’ve made a directorial decision regarding the next one.

I’ve decided to cast someone else to play me.

The “new” Chris Rodell will be younger, have better posture and smile more vibrantly.

And she’ll be black.

I’m thinking of Danai Gurira.

Having the woman who plays Michonne on “Walking Dead” play me will really ring the old diversity bell, and she’s a terrific actress. She could use her katana to in mid-air sever a whole damn box of crayons.

(Unrelated fun fact: Danai Gurira, now famous for beheading zombies, was born on Valentine’s Day, 1978. Lovely!)

The people who are trying to secure me more big league keynote addresses suggested a 90-second promotional video would be helpful.

Luckily, I have an ace videographer who’s now twice graced me with his talents.

His video news segments have won Mid-Atlantic regional Emmys. He could be busy round-the clock fulfilling lucrative corporate work. 

Why people like him choose to squander precious time working on my behalf for just a few free beers, I do not know.

Maybe they don’t realize Straub American lager is sold in most every area beer distributor.

I rehearsed for about two whole days trying to ensure it looked totally unrehearsed. 

Filming a commercial about yourself and starring in it feels like an exercise in pure vanity, like a really extended selfie. I was conscious of this the whole time.

So I’ll be interested to hear the reactions. Here’s the link.

I’ve long said anyone who believes he is his own worst critic is either delusional or single.

Is that the case here? 

I like everything about the video except the parts in which I’m speaking, which is unfortunate because the whole point of the thing is to get people to hire me to speak.

I love the music, the asides and shots of me playing around in the office. 

It looks wonderful and I remain optimistic its message will work with its intended audience: meeting planners looking for speakers. I hope it conveys the mirth I feel about life even in tumultuous times.

I don’t think it’ll stand out the way I’d hoped, but it’s another foundational block in the now-sturdy structure that is my pitch.

And the next one will be even better because it’ll star Danai Gurira, assuming she’s willing to do it for a few free Straubs. I think she’ll go for it.

Something about her tells me she’s a real sweetheart.

I now have a video for nearly every occasion. Here are some of the others:

• “So what did you think of Chris (in 20 seconds or less)?” — I had a lot of fun with this one. Funny cameos include my mom, wife, kids, Arnold Palmer and Bill Clinton. 

• Greensburg Library ’14 — This is when I was just getting started and shows, I think, a really strong and conversational talk. There were only about 15 people here, but you can tell everyone’s having a good time.

• Bethel Park Speakers Series — As a commentator points out, this one appears disjointed because they failed to mic the audience. So it’s like an hour of me telling stories and basking in the laughter no one else can hear.

• “What the book’s about and why it’ll always be free” — Very nice. This is the first one my buddy Brian did for me. Has a nice polish to it. I used this as the main feature on my crayons page for several years.

• “Why ‘Use All The Crayons!’ is like the cure for polio” — It’s too bad the lighting renders this nearly unwatchable because it’s great reaction to a strong delivery. This was before the Pennsylvania Restaurant & Lodging Association. It’s when the guy told me I’d cured his hangover.

• “‘Crayons!’ FAQ” — Hilarious. I had Dave from The Pond pose a bunch of questions about the book. Very cheesy.

• Quinn Fallon sings about me — What’s not to love about this? My rock star buddy sings the songs I inspired.

• “Chris drunk in church story” — Strong story. Great reaction. I’d rate this higher, but my emerging bald spot appears too prominent for my liking.

• Omaha intro — This highlights the humor I use to start my talks.

• “When men tell other men, ‘I love you’” — Depending on the audience, I sometimes read a story from the book. Nothing boring.

• “Greatest ovation ever” — That’s no lie. This one is pure fun. I send this link out with every pitch. This is my most-viewed video with nearly 1,800 hits. The recollection of the moment still leaves me tingling.

4 days, 3 talks, 3 results

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I had three speaking engagements in the last five days and I’m now optimistic I’ll one day soon drive a car with a functioning air conditioner.

That’s been a problem. My vehicle is an heirloom Saturn Vue, 2007, and it’s bit-by-bit falling apart.

I’m like that, too, so I’m still partial to it.

We’re conditioned to think running a car without self-cooling is akin to self-waterboarding. Really, it’s not as bad as you think. 

People who think it must be horrendous mostly fail to understand that car windows roll down at places other than fast food drive-thus.

So I park in the shade, drive in the fast lane and let the wind do its work.

Note: if your AC breaks, it helps to keep a nice tight hair cut.

I had three presentations this week and some of you might be interested in how they went.

Well, they all were exceptional, but for different reasons.

The first was Monday evening at City Books on Pittsburgh’s North Side. I was aggressive in promoting this one on the blog and social media and I’m now more than ever convinced social media only works only if you’re named Kardashian.

Just six people showed up.

And I was one of the six!

The owner and her husband were two of the others.

A sweet local couple walked in off the street and so did John McIntire.

So in the crowd was at least one celebrity! John is a friend who hosts scintillating talk shows on KDKA radio and does local stand up comedy. I was very pleased to see him walk through the door.

This was my first reading for “Last Baby Boomer” so it was, in fact, my first reading ever.

All my other talks are basically monologues. I don’t read much at all from the “Crayons” book because it’s mostly a list of stuff.

I decided a nimble mingle would work best. So I’d read from a chapter and then intersperse some personal talk about the roll dark humor plays in brightening my life.

And I sweated profusely the whole time. It was very warm and I was nervous. It’s much more difficult to try and entertain five people than it is 250.

But it went well. Despite the low turnout, it was a key event because the next day I’d be in Wheeling at the Ohio County Public Library doing the same thing before 70 people.

John — and I can count on him for bracing honesty — said the presentation was good, but I read too hastily and should have emoted more.

What buoyed me, too, was how much every — all five of ‘em — had enjoyed the actual readings from “Last Baby Boomer.” They laughed out loud often. I was thrilled to learn how much the book connects to a live audience.

So I was very confident, bold even, on Tuesday in Wheeling. 

I did a brief intro then brashly went right into the the first of four substantial readings.

It was at first a mistake. I asked an enthusiast later how I could improve the talk and she said, “The first reading was too abrupt. You need to inform the audience you’re going to read and then talk some. It turned out to be a perfect mix, but when it seemed like you were going to read for the full hour everyone got very afraid.”

Well, it became one of the best reactions I’ve ever received. They just loved it.

I’m thrilled it went over so well and will now begin aggressively promoting more readings apart from “Crayons!” motivational gigs.

I am jazzed.

Thursday was a “Crayons!” presentation where everything that could have gone wrong did. It was a South Hills men’s social club held on the awninged porch of the TGIFridays near South Hills Village. 

The setting was horrendous. It was in the parking lot. Ambient music was playing. Landscapers were mowing the trim. And the audience was intimidatingly affluent — a bunch of really rich guys.

And I killed it.

They loved my talk.

Working without notes, I on the spot boiled my normally hour-long talk down to the five of the most colorful people I knew.

It couldn’t have gone better. I know it goes well when attendees come up and say I would be a stand-up comic. That happened.

Plus, a man renowned as a talent evaluator issued heady praise.

“You were excellent. Very enjoyable.”

He was Tom Donohoe (above), director of football operations for the Pittsburgh Steelers from 1991 through ’99.

Retired Pens GM Eddie Johnson was there, too. It was a great crowd. Johnson, by the way, said the greatest player who ever lived wasn’t Mario Lemieux, Sidney Crosby or even Wayne Gretzky.

It was Bobby Orr.

They bought a ton of books, too.

So it was a great week and leaves me convinced all the arrows are pointing up.

It’s so encouraging I’m thinking I just might do something drastic.

I’m thinking about getting the AC fixed!