SILENT WITNESS

Actor Robert Pastorelli died on March 8th.

I’d enjoyed his work as Murphy Brown’s sardonic, and perpetually present, house painter. But like so many performers in Hollywood, it was not easy for him to stay in front of the eyes of the audience when the big job ended. What that did to him, I don’t know, but all reports on his death indicated that his life had been troubled in recent years.

I mention all this, not because I knew the man. No, I only knew his work.

But about a week before his death, I did see him at the grocery store I patronize. I’d actually seen him there before, about a year or so previously. The recent occasion was one of those “ordinary life” type encounters. I was getting out of my car, heading into the store. He’d just gotten out of his vehicle with his young daughter and was also walking toward the store. My brain did one of those momentary puzzling skips of “Why do I know that face?” It was immediately followed by, “Oh, it’s him!”

But I didn’t say anything to him. And now I wish I had. Because I’m pretty sure he saw the recognition wash over my face. I could at least have smiled and said “Hello.” My habit of letting celebrities have their private lives kept me from doing even that. And I’m beginning to think it was a mistake. I should have said “Hello.”

Everyone wants to be acknowledged as a person, yes, even celebrities. I don’t mean the greedy need for adulation, but rather the simple acknowledgment that behind the glamour there exists a human being, just like everyone else. And those little acknowledgments can actually be very powerful.

I was driving to work one day, and was stopped at a red light on a very wide street. An elderly man was crossing the street headed toward a medical clinic. He walked slowly, wearily, his shoulders a bit stooped. He happened to glance in at me as he crossed in front of me, and as our eyes met I happened to smile at him in response. Like magic, he straightened up, stepped a bit more briskly and continued on with a faint smile of his own. A little thing, done without real thought on my part, but I could see that for that moment, it made a difference to him.

The Friday after 9/11, my church held a special memorial service, and I was an usher, upstairs in the sanctuary’s balcony. An actress came in, one who had worked on a show I liked. I knew that at that time she’d been living in New York City, and guessed that she’d been on the West Coast for some business. I greeted her by name, and said I was a fan of the show. And that was all I said, at that time. She was alone, and very casually dressed. Definitely not out to attract attention.

After the service, she remained in her pew, praying. As an usher I needed to stay at my station, because it had been a candle light service, and I needed to make sure no lit or smoking candles were left behind. So I observed her. And thought about what she might be feeling. She’d worked in New York, her husband was still back there, and at that time, air travel was still grounded, so she was stuck in L.A. all alone.

So when she finally got up to leave, I spoke to her. I asked if she’d heard from everyone she knew in New York City. She seemed surprised at being asked that. I suppose she was expecting, even under those circumstances, to be asked some fannish question. I don’t think she expected to be considered as an ordinary distressed human being. And yet, for that brief moment, she seemed grateful that someone, someone immediately present, was concerned about her as a person. She said that yes she had, that her husband (they were newly married at the time) was in New York.

After she left, I was glad I’d spoken to her. At that moment, I was very conscious of how, as a Christian, part of my calling is to be that present and visible expression of God’s concern for my fellow humans. And how most of the time, that can be such a simple job. A small act, a smile, a greeting, an acknowledgment.

And yet, most of the time, like so many other people, I cruise through my daily life wrapped up in my own thoughts. I speak to the people that matter to me, but barely acknowledge the masses of folks I don’t know. Living life in a silent, limited bubble.

I have to ask myself, what kind of a witness is that? My own interaction with God is a personal, daily thing. And I see his hand in many small things that cross my path. But do I always remember to turn around and be that small thing in someone else’s path? No, I don’t.

And that’s why I regret that I didn’t say “Hello” to Robert Pastorelli. Or “She’s cute” about his daughter. I don’t know if it would have made a difference in his fate. But the possibility that it might have haunts me. That simple acknowledgment of him as a person, valued in the eyes of God.

I need to stop being such a silent witness.