Dan's Papers - October 13, 2006

Gerry Hayden, Claudia Fleming
Mike Mraz, Mary Mraz
The North Fork Table & Inn
Southold

Dear Dan,
Lately, while you enjoy a leisurely weekend drive, day-tripping to Montauk for steamers on the dock, or bird-watching in Hither Hills, I can be found mulling around the backyard, weeding, hosing, but mostly sweating. I'll do anything; even re-shingle the roof, not to have to get in the car.
I'll admit that I've never been what you would call a great passenger. Just ask my husband, the guy who's threatened to eject me from the car on numerous occasions during our thirty years of automotive togetherness. Once, he actually pulled over on a major highway, jumped out of the driver's seat and handed me the car keys. "You drive," he bellowed, but we were traveling the Autobahn near Bonn, so I quickly begged for forgiveness. I promised to keep my trap shut until we reached the next foreign country. Observing my husband's obvious frustration with my backseat driving, I quickly recalled a difficult chapter in my youth: driving lessons with dad, and how incredibly nervous I'd become under his Navy commandant, no-nonsense tutelage. One hand posed to grab the wheel, Dad warned; no gum chewing, no blinking or breathing, eyes on the road. Just leaning over to change the radio station was enough to get my fingers slapped. And now, decades later, I'd become him - a driver's education, audio-visual program trapped in the body of a tense, pre-menopausal woman.
Though a tough decision, eventually I decided it was time to ease up to try and relax and enjoy the ride. Then something wonderful happened, and something very scary. We moved here - to the glorious Hamptons, where the sunsets and beaches rival any vacation spot in the world, but where driving somewhere to partake in all that beauty means putting your life in other people's hands. People who should stay put and feed the birds.
Even though the size of these vehicles can be daunting, I understand why some people drive mammoth Navigators, Hummers and Rovers. Because if they haven't actually caused an accident, their operators have a better chance of surviving one. Especially after some kamikaze moron decides to pass on a two-lane highway, not one car, but four or five and head straight for you in your one measly, pot-holed since January, half-a-lane. That's when you think: This is it. I'm going to die. There's no time to freshen your lipstick or spit out your gum......You actually may hear yourself say the words-I'm a goner. But then, if you're lucky or have given a great deal to charity, miraculously that same moron grins at you as he grazes on by.
That's when you remember to breathe, after which you scream every expletive you've collected since seventh grade and stowed in your memory bank. Please note: None of this is to be taken lightly. Unless you've been immersed underwater, you know how each and every week the papers are filled with reports of awful accidents. Much too often lives are lost due to carelessness behind the wheel-stemming from a plethora of negligent acts: cell phone yapping, running pedestrian crossings, and more often than not from driving under the influence combined with insane speeding. Everyone is rushing. It seems as though they are dividing their time into the costs per minute of Hampton time. Not a moment to be missed.
I used to think that I could control my fate on the road; I now know that it simply isn't true. Driving out here has little to do with control; it is more about luck and the power of prayer. I learned this, only recently, on one sun-filled perfect afternoon while enthusiastically running errands for my pregnant daughter's arrival. I was about to what would make would be my last left turn ever onto Route 27. Thankfully by my own choice, too. Because the coast was completely clear and one of those morons I'd mentioned earlier pulled out of a stalled line of westbound traffic and come plowing into my eastbound lane, head on. We were about to collide, a blur of white against white, a circus act of death played out in front of yawning truckers traveling home after a long day.
When I was finally able to pull over, I sat for quite a while shaking. I thanked all the angels hovering above me-my Dad among them. I saw how easily an accident could happen and how all the prudence in the world wouldn't necessarily change the hands of fate. My fingers became claws. I gripped the steering wheel for dear, dear life and hurried home.
Thanks.

Things can happen so fast. -DR

Dear Dan,
Dear David,
We read your recent article in Dan's Paper's on the BE NICE sign in Southampton and we were absolutely thrilled to see some attention brought to this wonderful effort to spread some kindness.
As someone who clearly understands the value of altruism and considerations in this ever frenetic and impersonalized world, we thought you would appreciate an advance galley of our new book The Power of Nice, with a foreword by Jay Leno (Doubleday/ Currency, September 19, 2006). Drawing from your own experiences and the stories of others, we flip the age-old mantra of "nice guys finish last" on its head, exposing it as a lie that actually undermines success not only in business, but in every aspect of your life. As you can attest, being "nice" at the office impacts every part of an employee's life- and the all-important bottom line.
In an era when the corporate world glorifies a dog-eat-dog mentality, we built The Kaplan Thaler Group, one of the nation's fastest growing advertising agencies, by rejecting the idea that success is a zero-sum game and accepting that collaboration and kindness are the keys to creating a sensation. In other words, success truly lies in the power of nice.
We hope that you enjoy The Power of Nice and we invite you to join our nice community at www.thepowerofnice.com.
Many thanks.

Linda Kaplan Thaler
CEO and Chief Creative Officer
The Kaplan Thaler Group
Robin Koval
President
The Kaplan Thaler Group