Undercover Bill
Walking the walk. Not just talking the talk
A few years ago, I discovered a writer I really liked named Ted Conover. He wanted to explore New York State’s prison system in depth. But he met with roadblocks at every turn. So what did Ted do? He applied for a job as a corrections officer, worked for a year at Ossining, and then wrote a book. Now that’s walkin’ the walk!
Ted wanted to know what it was like to ride the rails like a hobo of old. So what did he do? You already know the answer. Just in case — he rode the rails for a summer and wrote a book. And he was curious about the mega-meat slaughterhouse thing. So yeah. He got a job with Armour and wrote a lengthy piece for The Atlantic. I read them all. The guy is my hero.
Over 25 years ago, I scored a strange job writing stories and selling advertising for what amounted to a whorehouse newspaper. All our advertisers sold sex. That led to me starting my own advertising agency and website and eventually — a year behind bars. I wasn’t a criminal type. But that hardly mattered to a country that has 5% of the world’s population while at once boasting 25% of its inmate population. You get the idea. The USA likes to throw people in prison even when they pose no threat to anybody’s personal safety. But I digress.
If I had it to do over again, I’m not sure I’d want to spend a year of my life in prison. But that doesn’t mean the experience had no value. I’d never have met Paul Manafort (who was my cellmate for a spell), or Jeffrey Epstein, who became my prison friend while I watched him in his suicide cell.
I got my job with the whorehouse paper because I was a writer. And when I came out of prison, I began writing about the jailhouse experience. That authentic point of view was invaluable for the media. I’d walked the walk — and not just talked the talk. Major league publications beckoned. And I answered the call.
After volunteering at various senior centers and churches for 5 years, I got hired by one of them during the pandemic — and then laid off when the grant ran out. After my unemployment expired, I took my cum laude college degree and became a DoorDasher on a pedal bike. I was getting soft from sitting at home and eating all day for a year. It was time to walk the walk again.
Dashing is a trip. No doubt about that. Yet another valuable experience most people would rather not suffer. But this week — via my authenticity on the subject — I scored an op-ed in the NY Daily News about the exploding food delivery economy. A thousand deliveries later, I know what I’m talking about. Walking the walk.
Yeah, you can call me a schmuck on a bike. In fact, one recent weekend night while I was dashing, I overheard a bridge and tunnel 20-something girl tell her companion “Look at that man on a bike!” I knew she was referring to me.
“Excuse me, sister. I’m walking the walk while you talk the talk,” is what I would have said. But I was going too fast and had somebody’s food on my handlebars. No time for her bull shit. Maybe she’ll get it someday. It took me a long time to understand about walking versus talking — and which was the way to go. Maybe it will happen for her, too.
