Although I've absentmindedly forgotten many milestones in my life, my purchase two decades ago of a 27-inch Sony Trinitron television remains as vivid as the birth of my children. It's not that I'm addicted to television, but that spring of 1990, I just knew something special was about to be televised. I was a diehard fan of the National Hockey League's Pittsburgh Penguins—led by the remarkable, yet relatively unappreciated, Mario Lemieux—and I was convinced Mario would show the hockey world in the upcoming Stanley Cup playoffs that the best player in the game wasn't named Wayne Gretzky. The chance to watch Lemieux's ascent to hockey greatness on a television that could differentiate colors only heightened my expectations.
There was one problem, though, as I pulled up to the front of my home with my purchase, which had been carefully secured in the trunk of my Honda by the warehouse workers at Best Buy. How was I going to safely pick up a bulky TV that weighed more than the weights I lifted on Nautilus machines at the health club? No ideas came to me as I stood on the sidewalk outside my first-floor condo in Shadyside, a Pittsburgh neighborhood that many young professionals and graduate students call home. I tried to get my hands around the box to see if there was any chance I could go it alone. But I couldn't even get a good grip. At that moment, my train of thought was interrupted.
"Excuse me, do you need a hand?" I turned around and gazed upon a young man who looked strong enough to play for the Pittsburgh Steelers, let alone the Penguins. "Sure," I replied, and the two of us easily took my Trinitron inside. It turns out my guardian angel happened to live next door. The two of us hadn't met. We never got together again, either, not even for some hockey games. I tuned in, only to watch the Pens miss the playoffs that year by losing the final game of the season. (The team made up for my disappointment the next two seasons, winning the Stanley Cup both years, with Mario being selected as playoff MVP both times.)
About eight years ago, my family and I packed up our stuff and—using professional movers—settled in another Pittsburgh neighborhood. The Trinitron gave way to a high-definition TV and is now relegated to a second-floor guest bedroom. As for my former neighbor, I can't even remember his name.
Yet, he came to mind after I edited this issue's feature "Food for Thought." Alumnus Fritz Haeg believes that in these polarizing times of red states versus blue states, our country needs to come together neighbor to neighbor. He has implemented a project, brilliant in its simplicity, which enables neighbors to learn more about one another than what is revealed every four years by a presidential candidate's front-yard sign. Had my former neighbor and I been involved in such a project, I'd still know his name.
–Robert Mendelson
Executive Editor
