My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

Many, many years ago, way back when I was just about to jump into the crazy world of high-school, I was into photography. I wasn’t shooting digital, digital wasn’t really a thing yet. I had a Nikon N90 loaded with Kodak film, and two simple switches spliced into a standard remote, which served to focus and shoot. The camera was mounted on my chair next to my eye. I’d direct whoever to move me just so, and I’d shoot. I liked shooting portraits, and though I was only a fifteen-year-old nobody, I got the opportunity to photograph someone I admired right next to Steve Jobs, someone I admire to this day, David Letterman. So many amazing experiences stem from that one opportunity, meeting David Letterman would ultimately help to shape my adult life.

Dave had a reputation for being not particularly easy on photographers, it was generally, he’d sit for two minutess, and if the chosen photographer happened to get anything good, yay! If not, that was that. I was astonishingly nervous, not because I thought he’d be a bastard, but because I just wanted him to know I was smart, he didn’t have to talk s-l-o-w-e-r and LOUDER, as people often feel the need to do when meeting me. Normally, I don’t care, but I was meeting a hero, and I didn’t know how long I’d be there. Also, I hadn’t yet figured out that other smart people don’t automatically treat someone with disabilities akin to a golden retriever. Dave was totally gracious, in absolutely no rush to get me out the door. He sat on stage, in front of his desk, to be level with my camera. Unlike people warned me, after the usual “smile!” pictures, he let me keep shooting. I asked him to light up a cigar, he did. I asked him to look like he wanted to deck me, he did. I asked him to look loopy, he looked at me over the top of his glasses, cigar between his fingers, and said, “You know, you’re gettin’ to be a real pain in the ass, kid.” Then, cigar clenched in his teeth, he looked totally loopy. He let me shoot an entire roll of film. Afterward, he asked if I was ready for high-school, and I was like, “Um, kind of…” My mom explained that our district was trying to send me to a “special education” high-school, and I didn’t want to go, so we’re working on it. Dave said to stay in touch, and if he could do anything to help, just let him know. Then he said to me, “Try and stay out of trouble, will ya?” He was so… normal, absolutely not a “celebrity.” After Dave went up to his office, his assistant said, dinner was on Dave, gave us a bunch of Late Show hats, shirts, everything. We went to dinner and figured, that was the end of one Hell of a story. It was a spectacular experience… What more could one ask?

A week later, I had my photographs. Three of them turned out to be truly good portraits. To me, they’re the only photographs I ever shot that are genuine art. We also got a phone call that week, Dave’s assistant. She said Dave really wanted to help with the school situation, just say what and it’d be done. My mom thought about it and noted that the district was refusing to provide the technology I needed. If I had a computer, I could do my work independently, and that’d make it easier to fight to be placed in “regular education” with my peers. A few days later, a $5000 check was sent to CompUSA under the name of an obscure production company, and I got a fully loaded Power Mac 7200, a giant CRT-display, and enough software to run a small country… under one condition; we don’t go to the media with the story. That’s David Letterman, very kind, very generous, but very private. He’s sort of the Anti-Oprah, he does so much good, changes lives, but he does so with complete discretion. There’s no ego involved, he doesn’t help people for the show of it. After almost twenty years, I don’t think he’ll mind me telling this story, but otherwise, I think he’ll take most of the tales of his good works to his grave.

David Letterman really did help to shape who I am now. That first desktop Mac and the assistive technology to use it opened the path to independence, an eventual relationship with Apple, knowing Steve Jobs, and a thousand other experiences. Without Dave, so many doors never would have even appeared to me, let alone been opened wide. Graduating toward the top of my high-school class was just part of a much larger picture.

Like Dave asked in a nice bit of gallows humor on his final night as host of the Late Show, I’ll save a few stories for the funeral… I definitely have more. For now, I’ll just say to him, thank you, for the laughs, and everything else.