There were several very good reasons for my recent
odyssey to New York.
For one, I was to finally personally meet Tim, my
literary agent. Our plan was to bop around the city and
schmooze with some publishers with the goal of landing me
book deal.
My second -- and, as it turned out, easier -- objective
was to bring the Dairy Star to Manhattan, to carry this
humble publication to the center of the media universe.
But how to accomplish this? Would there even be the
slightest bit of interest in the Dairy Star in the Big Apple?
Were there any needs the Dairy Star could meet there?
The answer to these questions came minutes after my
shoes hit the pavement of Manhattan.
I was walking towards Times Square when my march was
halted by a gay pride march. At the very end of the parade
was a couple of guys brandishing bull whips. They made
frequent demonstrations of their whipping skills, sending
loud cracks and pops echoing through the concrete canyons.
I knew then and there that the Dairy Star was indeed
needed in Manhattan. After all, here were a couple of guys
who obviously had unrequited fantasies about careers as cow
pushers, but there was not a cow in sight for them to push.
I thought about approaching these guys and telling them
that they could easily fulfill their fantasies through a
classified ad in the Dairy Star, but reconsidered when it
became apparent they wouldn't quit whipping long enough for
me to get near them. I will do SOME things to flog the Dairy
Star, but would definitely draw the line at being publicly
flogged.
I pushed on until I finally reached Times Square, a
place that has been touted as the most recognizable piece of
real estate in the world. A steady stream of people flowed
through the obtuse "X" made by the confluence of Broadway and
Seventh Avenue.
I was at first disheartened as it appeared there was no
one among the milling throng who might take an interest in
the Dairy Star. But then, I caught sight of a familiar shape:
a cowboy hat! Right there in the middle of Times Square!
I forded a river of taxis in order to get closer to the
owner of the cowboy hat. As I approached, I perceived that he
was not like any cow man I had ever seen.
The young man with the cowboy hat had white underwear
on. The reason I knew this was that underwear was about all
he wore. A guitar and cowboy boots rounded out his ensemble.
He touted himself as "The Naked Cowboy" -- although he
was actually wearing more clothing than some of the gay pride
marchers. He would strum his guitar, sing a bit of a song,
and pose for pictures with female tourists. In fact, there
was a line of female tourist waiting to have their picture
taken with The Naked Cowboy. I couldn't help but think that
this wasn't too bad a way to make a living.
After a female tourist had her photo taken (usually by
her husband or Significant Other), she would often offer The
Naked Cowboy a dollar bill. I heard The Naked Cowboy say at
one point, "Put it in the boots, ladies. There's no room left
in the underwear!" (I wonder if this holds true in the
wintertime?)
I eventually approached The Naked Cowboy and offered him
a copy of the Dairy Star. He perused it thoughtfully and as
he did, I snapped his photo. Thus we can now truthfully say,
"The Dairy Star -- as read in Times Square!"
My further efforts to boost the Dairy Star were put on
hold until my very last day in New York.
On the eve of that last day, I commented to Tim that
perhaps I should go to Rockefeller Plaza and attend the live
broadcast of the Today Show. Tim thought it a capital idea,
saying it would be "guerilla marketing". The ideal scenario
might go something like this:
Al Roker: "And here is a young man who says he's from
South Dakota. What's your name and what brings you to New
York?"
Me: "My name is Jerry Nelson and I'm here to find an
editor who's interested in my book!"
Al: "That's great! Tell me about that fine-looking
newspaper you're holding."
Me: "This is the Dairy Star and it's the best darn dairy
newspaper in the entire Upper Midwest!"
Al: "Wow, that's very impressive! Say, why don't you
duck into the studio with me? I bet Katie would be thrilled
to meet you. Plus, Matt is feeling a bit under the weather
today; think you could sit in for him for the rest of the
show?"
Ok, so maybe that scenario was just a tad optimistic.
Even so, I went to Rockefeller Plaza with a heart full of
hope and my last Dairy Star tucked under my arm.
I got there early in order to beat the crowd. Trouble
is, by the time I arrived, there was a bunch of people there
who'd had the same idea and who had gotten it earlier than
me. I wound up with a spot one layer of people away from the
rope line.
Being a part of the Today Show's outdoor audience
involves a lot of patience and a lot of standing. I stood so
long, I began to suspect I had lost several inches of height.
It was easy to tell when Al Roker came out from the
studio. A whoop arose from the crowd and I craned my neck to
see what the big deal was. Next thing I know, Al Roker was
rapidly working the rope line, shaking hands as he went.
When Al passed my spot, I thrust my hand between the
people in front of me and shook hands with him. I tried to
say, "Hi, I'm Jerry Nelson and I'm from South Dakota and I'm
looking for an editor to look at my book and this is the
Dairy Star the best darn dairy newspaper in the Upper
Midwest!"
But, alas. Al shook hands so fast all I got out was the
"Hi, I'm" part before he moved on.
I was undaunted, though. I hung around for the rest of
the broadcast, waving my copy of the Dairy Star behind Matt
and Katie when they came out to do an outdoor segment.
Perhaps, if a person were to closely examine a tape of that
broadcast, he might find a millisecond-long flash of the
Dairy Star somewhere in the background. If so, we could
rightfully say, "The Dairy Star -- as seen on the Today
Show!"
I spent the rest of that day roaming Manhattan, my now-
crumpled copy of the Dairy Star under my arm. Later, while
waiting for my return flight, I struck up a conversation with
a fellow traveler who said he was a medical device salesman
from Chicago. I showed him my bedraggled copy of the Dairy
Star and he began to recount fond memories of teenaged
summers spent working on a Wisconsin dairy farm.
I gave the medical device salesman that much-travelled
copy of the Dairy Star. I don't know why; it simply seemed
like the thing to do.
Plus now we can rightfully say, "The Dairy Star -- as
read in the Windy City!"
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