Oh Say Can You See?
Originally Published In Western Outdoor Publications the Week of April 12, 2017
I want to tell you a little story.
We just finished our 21st year on the road. For 3 months of the year, we drive to a different fishing and hunting show around the country.
We sell the Baja. Our Baja. The sunshine. The fishing. The blue water. Come put your toes in the sand and get away from it all.
Seattle…Denver…Portland…Boise…San Diego…Salt Lake City…it’s the life of a modern carnival worker.
We arrive in a city in our cargo van. Set up our booth. Talk to folks for 4 or 5 days. Break it all down. Drive another 1000 miles or so to the next city.
Ready for the next show. And on and on. See a lot of wonderful country. Shake a lot of hands. Talk to a lot of wonderful folks.
There’s a whole gaggle and rag-tag of other outfitters, guides, vendors, and show people who follow “the circuit.”
Several weeks ago at the show in Phoenix, my booth was surrounded by the usual outfitters. One couple from Alaska. Another from Colorado. A guide from Canada.
But across the aisle from me, was a booth set up with chairs in a row. The “kid” working the booth was selling electric back massagers. Oh joy.
For two days, I watched the kid bust his butt working his booth and talking to people. His booth was a favorite.
Everyone walking that show loved sitting in his chairs and getting a back massage. Who wouldn’t?
But, I loved watching the kid work.
“C’mon in. Put your feet up for a few minutes!” he would smile.
I say “kid” only because he was a lot younger than me. Medium height. Dark and swarthy with a neat mustache and beard. Good shape. Polo shirt Nike tennis shoes and hip black skinny jeans that I couldn’t wear even on my best days back then.
On the 3rd day of the show, a few minutes before they opened the doors to the public, he walked over to my booth and stuck out his hand with a big smile.
He introduced himself as Yama Nasrallah.
He said he had also been watching me working the past two days. We struck up an easy conversation.
As vendors do, I told him I live in Mexico.
He told me he was from Afghanistan.
Over the next few minutes, he explained that he had come to the U.S. fifteen years ago. He used to have businesses in Afghanistan and Pakistan. He moved with his mom, dad and brothers.
“When I came to America I could not speak or write any English. I told myself the only way to get ahead is to learn English. So, I made myself study hard every night while I worked at whatever jobs I could get to support my family.”
“I still do not write English very well,” he grinned, “But I speak English pretty good and I still study every night…after work! I must be better!” he added enthusiastically in a slight accent.
Without prompting, he told me that hard work is the only way to get ahead and do good. Too many people…even Americans (he laughed) expect things to be given to them.
But, he told me he works usually 7-days-a-week. He does over 100 shows around the United States every year.
He now employed his two younger brothers and they were manning his other two booths at the same Phoenix show. One sold soft bamboo sheets and pillows for camping. The other sold a handy high-tech utility flashlight.
He had a warehouse in Salt Lake City.
I couldn’t help but grin and compliment him.
“Y’know, if you are lazy you won’t get anywhere. I teach that to my young brothers. They like to party too much,” he laughed. “But hard work is how you earn respect.”
“Everyone thinks America is where life is good and things are free and you are entitled to anything you want. That is not true. America gives you opportunity and freedom to make choices.”
As the show would start in a few minutes and both of us had some things to get ready, he gave me a quick firm handshake, a smile and wished me a great day. He hustled back to his booth.
I walked back to my booth.
A few minutes later, just before the gates opened, the show producers always play the Star Spangled Banner over the loudspeakers.
Most of the show people, vendors, outfitters and guides, stop what they are doing and face a nearby American flag. Often several hundred vendors.
Hand over heart. Hat over heart. Hands clasped behind back. Old veterans often stand at attention and salute. No one takes a knee. Some sing.
It’s a great way to start the day. Like being in school again in some ways.
But, I’m always annoyed at someone who forgets. Some folks don’t notice that everyone else is paying respect. They keep writing. Or talking. Or chatting on their cell phones.
It makes me smirk. C’mon, put it on hold for a minute.
Toward the last part of the song, I glanced over at Yama, my new friend from Afghanistan. Vendor of electric massagers, pillows and flashlights.
Straight as an arrow.
“Oh say does that star spangled…”
Hand over heart.
“…Banner yet wave…”
Shoulders back
“O’er the land of the free…”
Head high towards the huge American flag on the wall.
“And the home of the brave!”
And when it all ended and all the outfitters were clapping and cheering, Yama, who can speak English, but can’t write English so well. . .
put two fingers to his lips and let out the loudest whistles.
And started pumping his fist in the air…
“U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!”
I don’t think anyone else saw or heard. I don’t think Yama cared. He didn’t look around. He got ready to work. To earn respect. To get ahead.
You go, Yama.
And that’s my story.
Jonathan Roldan’s
Tailhunter International
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