We are the Other - Jerry, South Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012) When Jerry was a kid his parents would let him have any toy he wanted on his birthday and Christmas. But only one toy. “C’mon now!” he exclaims, some 40 years later, the anguish still in his voice. He would pore over the “Wish Books” put out by Sears, JC Penney and Montgomery Wards for his one present, which was often a piece of baseball memorabilia. He got hooked on baseball cards when he was 12, winning them when shooting marbles with the neighborhood kids. During televised baseball games he would prop them up next to the TV, matching the card to the player on the screen so he could connect with them in a personal way. “Maybe I was the only kid who did that,” he says. Then he went to college, got a job and could finally afford all the things he couldn’t as a kid. He worked twenty years as a sales rep for the Minneapolis Star Tribune and every time he got that commission check he’d head to a flea market, rummage sale, thrift store or antique mart, constantly adding to his conglomeration: toys from the 50s and 60s, Japanese Tin Friction Cars, coins, GI Joe, model car kits, Star Wars paraphernalia, and most of all, sports cards. Because he would buy sports cards by the boxful faster than he could look at them, his attic is now filled with piles of unopened cartons. His collection consists of 300,000 baseball cards, and if you add all the basketball, football, hockey cards, it totals a half a million, not to mention all the other toys. He delights in talking about the history and culture that his cards represent, and gives away a lot of it in an effort to share his wealth. He is now retired and spends six days a week, often several times a day, at the Blue Ox, getting online to trade and buy more stuff on eBay and other sites. He never married. “I can’t imagine a woman who would put up with all this,” he says laughing. “I had a girlfriend. She kicked me out because my stuff was filling up her house. I don’t blame her.” For this first time in his life he is displaying some of the results of his life-long obsession at the Blue Ox (pictured here) with a 50-piece exhibition that has a Minnesota sports related theme. He has another exhibition lined up at the Knights of Columbus in Bloomington, Minnesota. Next Saturday, April 7, from noon to 2 pm, Jerry will host a Minnesota sports trivia event at the Blue Ox. Anyone who orders a cup of coffee will get a free baseball card of a Hall of Famer.
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We are the Other - Jerry, South Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012)

When Jerry was a kid his parents would let him have any toy he wanted on his birthday and Christmas. But only one toy. “C’mon now!” he exclaims, some 40 years later, the anguish still in his voice. He would pore over the “Wish Books” put out by Sears, JC Penney and Montgomery Wards for his one present, which was often a piece of baseball memorabilia.

He got hooked on baseball cards when he was 12, winning them when shooting marbles with the neighborhood kids. During televised baseball games he would prop them up next to the TV, matching the card to the player on the screen so he could connect with them in a personal way. “Maybe I was the only kid who did that,” he says.

Then he went to college, got a job and could finally afford all the things he couldn’t as a kid. He worked twenty years as a sales rep for the Minneapolis Star Tribune and every time he got that commission check he’d head to a flea market, rummage sale, thrift store or antique mart, constantly adding to his conglomeration: toys from the 50s and 60s, Japanese Tin Friction Cars, coins, GI Joe, model car kits, Star Wars paraphernalia, and most of all, sports cards.

Because he would buy sports cards by the boxful faster than he could look at them, his attic is now filled with piles of unopened cartons. His collection consists of 300,000 baseball cards, and if you add all the basketball, football, hockey cards, it totals a half a million, not to mention all the other toys.

He delights in talking about the history and culture that his cards represent, and gives away a lot of it in an effort to share his wealth. He is now retired and spends six days a week, often several times a day, at the Blue Ox, getting online to trade and buy more stuff on eBay and other sites.

He never married. “I can’t imagine a woman who would put up with all this,” he says laughing. “I had a girlfriend. She kicked me out because my stuff was filling up her house. I don’t blame her.”

For this first time in his life he is displaying some of the results of his life-long obsession at the Blue Ox (pictured here) with a 50-piece exhibition that has a Minnesota sports related theme. He has another exhibition lined up at the Knights of Columbus in Bloomington, Minnesota. Next Saturday, April 7, from noon to 2 pm, Jerry will host a Minnesota sports trivia event at the Blue Ox. Anyone who orders a cup of coffee will get a free baseball card of a Hall of Famer.

We are the Other - Mo (Mohammed), South Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012) Mo was a lightweight, having boxed in Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and Boston. “I was 130 lbs, skinnier than you back then,” he says. He had won three titles, but gave it up to support his four brothers and five sisters back in Iraq. After “running and fighting against Saddam” in 1990, he arrived in the U.S. as a refugee and ended up working 13 hours a day pumping gas in New Bedford, Massachusetts. The owner had nine other gas stations, and one in particular was causing him trouble. “It was bad. There were fights all the time.” Mo talked the owner into letting him manage it. With hard work and a gentle but charismatic personality, he turned it around. “People trusted me,” he said. Mo offered to buy the station and the owner asked for $70,000, but would take a $20,000 down payment. He paid $5000 a month and finally took it over in 1997, installing a grocery store that made it successful. But he was lonely. There were few Iraqis in the area and when a friend urged him to come to Minneapolis where there was a more substantial Iraqi community, he sold the gas station and left. Soon after arriving he opened Lake and Park Grocery, a corner store less than a mile from Mill City Auto, where he visits the owner, his best friend Dan, just about every day (where this photo was taken). For two years he put in long days, “not drinking or partying.” He now owns two other grocery stores in Brooklyn Park and St. Paul and enjoys the fruits of his hard work, with an eye on sartorial appearance. “You’ve got to look good,” he says. “Because when you die you take nothing with you.”
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We are the Other - Mo (Mohammed), South Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012)

Mo was a lightweight, having boxed in Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, and Boston. “I was 130 lbs, skinnier than you back then,” he says. He had won three titles, but gave it up to support his four brothers and five sisters back in Iraq. After “running and fighting against Saddam” in 1990, he arrived in the U.S. as a refugee and ended up working 13 hours a day pumping gas in New Bedford, Massachusetts.

The owner had nine other gas stations, and one in particular was causing him trouble. “It was bad. There were fights all the time.” Mo talked the owner into letting him manage it. With hard work and a gentle but charismatic personality, he turned it around. “People trusted me,” he said.

Mo offered to buy the station and the owner asked for $70,000, but would take a $20,000 down payment. He paid $5000 a month and finally took it over in 1997, installing a grocery store that made it successful. But he was lonely. There were few Iraqis in the area and when a friend urged him to come to Minneapolis where there was a more substantial Iraqi community, he sold the gas station and left.

Soon after arriving he opened Lake and Park Grocery, a corner store less than a mile from Mill City Auto, where he visits the owner, his best friend Dan, just about every day (where this photo was taken). For two years he put in long days, “not drinking or partying.” He now owns two other grocery stores in Brooklyn Park and St. Paul and enjoys the fruits of his hard work, with an eye on sartorial appearance. “You’ve got to look good,” he says. “Because when you die you take nothing with you.”

We are the Other - Reggie at 38th Avenue & 4th Street, South Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012) This was the spot. Back in the day, some forty years ago when Jet Record and Crown Barber Shop were on the corners, Reggie would hang out with his boys doing the things bad boys did, smoking, drinking, singing, shooting dice, stealing potato chips out of a potato chip factory or beer and pop off a truck. “We weren’t a gang,” he says. Just the guys other moms would tell their children to stay clear of. “Mom worked several jobs, but she didn’t have the money to go out and buy me a bike, so we stole them,” says Reggie. “Not that stealing is right.” He was in and out of juvenile detention, kicked out of two schools and ended up in jail for seven months before getting serious with his life. He worked construction for 30 years and is now retired. Many of his friends from those days are dead or in prison. Reggie never married but he fathered four children, and now lives in a studio apartment with two of his boys, age 25 and 33. The younger one just got out of prison and he’s trying to keep them both off the street. He tells them the same thing his mother told him: “Give me my flowers now. Don’t bring them to my grave.” In other words, make me proud now instead of when I’m dead. When he says this to his boys they tell him, “Dad, you ain’t going nowhere.”
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We are the Other - Reggie at 38th Avenue & 4th Street, South Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012)

This was the spot. Back in the day, some forty years ago when Jet Record and Crown Barber Shop were on the corners, Reggie would hang out with his boys doing the things bad boys did, smoking, drinking, singing, shooting dice, stealing potato chips out of a potato chip factory or beer and pop off a truck. “We weren’t a gang,” he says. Just the guys other moms would tell their children to stay clear of.

“Mom worked several jobs, but she didn’t have the money to go out and buy me a bike, so we stole them,” says Reggie. “Not that stealing is right.” He was in and out of juvenile detention, kicked out of two schools and ended up in jail for seven months before getting serious with his life. He worked construction for 30 years and is now retired. Many of his friends from those days are dead or in prison.

Reggie never married but he fathered four children, and now lives in a studio apartment with two of his boys, age 25 and 33. The younger one just got out of prison and he’s trying to keep them both off the street. He tells them the same thing his mother told him: “Give me my flowers now. Don’t bring them to my grave.” In other words, make me proud now instead of when I’m dead. When he says this to his boys they tell him, “Dad, you ain’t going nowhere.”

This is the start of yet another concept in which I ask people to interact with someone they don’t know well (their Other) by discussing the chalkboard questions (see previous post). Then I ask the “Other” person to also approach someone they don’t know well, and so on, creating a “Chalkboard Chain.” — We are the Other - Charles & Hai at Tip Top Haircut, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012) I don’t have much information about Charles, except that he’s a regular at Tip Top, lives in the neighborhood and has a passion for donuts, as do I. We excitedly discussed the merits of the holed pastries at Patisserie 46, A Baker’s Wife (my favorite), Wuollet Bakery (his favorite), SugaRush Donuts and The Donut Cooperative. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a passionate discourse on dounuts before, with a stranger no less. I have another photo of Charles, almost exactly the same except that he has his eyes open. I couldn’t decide which one I preferred and asked several people for their opinions. One person commented that with his eyes open, what he wrote seems like a demand. With his eyes closed it’s more like a prayer.
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This is the start of yet another concept in which I ask people to interact with someone they don’t know well (their Other) by discussing the chalkboard questions (see previous post). Then I ask the “Other” person to also approach someone they don’t know well, and so on, creating a “Chalkboard Chain.”

—

We are the Other - Charles & Hai at Tip Top Haircut, Minneapolis, Minnesota (2012)

I don’t have much information about Charles, except that he’s a regular at Tip Top, lives in the neighborhood and has a passion for donuts, as do I. We excitedly discussed the merits of the holed pastries at Patisserie 46, A Baker’s Wife (my favorite), Wuollet Bakery (his favorite), SugaRush Donuts and The Donut Cooperative. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a passionate discourse on dounuts before, with a stranger no less.

I have another photo of Charles, almost exactly the same except that he has his eyes open. I couldn’t decide which one I preferred and asked several people for their opinions. One person commented that with his eyes open, what he wrote seems like a demand. With his eyes closed it’s more like a prayer.