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July 19, 2020 11:50 am

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July 19, 2020 11:50 am

John Blackstone looks at how the workplace may be different when -- or IF -- we go back to the office. Luke Burbank finds out why a city in Washington is printing money on wood. Michelle Miller talks with Oscar-winning actor Louis Gossett Jr. Mo Rocca visits with actress Kim Novak. David Pogue participates in the largest virtual choir ever assembled – 17,572 voices in all. And we look back at the life of civil rights activist and Congressman John Lewis. Those stories on this week's "CBS Sunday Morning."

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Our CBS Sunday morning podcast is sponsored by Edward Jones. College tours with your oldest daughter. Updating the kitchen to the appropriate decade.

Retiring on the coast. Life is full of moments that matter, and Edward Jones helps you make the most of them. That's why every Edward Jones financial advisor works with you to build personalized strategies for now and down the road. So when your next moment arrives, big or small, you're ready for it. Life is for living.

Let's partner for all of it. Learn more at Good morning. I'm Jane Pauley, and this is Sunday Morning. It's been a weekend for mourning after word of the passing of a legend.

As you've probably heard, pioneering civil rights leader John Lewis died Friday after a battle with pancreatic cancer. We'll be remembering Lewis, who went on to spend decades in Congress, with reports from Lee Cowan and Rita Braver. And then we turn to the future. Even as the nation debates how to safely reopen its schools, an equally baffling issue faces countless employers. What will it take to guarantee that a day at the office will be safe for every returning worker?

A question John Blackstone will tackle in our cover story. The office, as we've come to know it in recent years, is one of those things the pandemic may have changed forever. Is it time to say, rest in peace, the open office plan? Yeah, the open office is over. It was already over for a lot of reasons.

It was too noisy and you couldn't concentrate, and it was well on its way out the door. A new office for the new normal ahead on Sunday morning. Choir directors haven't been able to say all together now, at least in person, to their singers for months.

Which hasn't stopped the maestro David Pogue will introduce us to. These days, choirs can't meet in person. But in 2010, Eric Whitaker built a choir using individual videos of singers. I had singers from all over the world saying, when is the next virtual choir?

How can I be a part of this? Today, he'll unveil the biggest virtual choir ever assembled. 17,000 singers.

And one correspondent. Coming up on Sunday morning. We're in conversation this morning with actor Lewis Gossett Jr. He's got many stories to share with our Michelle Miller. You better stop eyeballing me, boy.

I'll rip your eyeballs out the sockets and skull. Lewis Gossett Jr. has been a working actor since 1953. But his first day in Hollywood wasn't about a park. It was about the police. They came back and handcuffed me to a tree for three hours. 1966. A tree.

A tree near palm tree. Oscar winner Lewis Gossett Jr. on his career and more later on Sunday morning. I get worse. Mo Rocca has a Sunday profile of actress Kim Novak. Luke Burbank takes some wooden nickels and then some. We'll visit a unique Wyoming truck stop with Jim Axelrod. Plus stories from Steve Hartman, Jim Gaffigan and more on this Sunday morning for the 19th of July 2020. We'll be back after this. John Lewis, one of the lions of the civil rights movement, has passed away after a long battle with pancreatic cancer.

He was 80 years old. A remembrance now from our Lee Cowan. How long can we be patient? We want our freedom and we want it now. He was, until the end, an optimist. When people tell me nothing has changed, I just feel like saying, come and walk in my shoes.

I will show you. But the death of George Floyd was a deadly reminder that the work he dedicated his life to wasn't over. I kept saying to myself, how many more? How many more young black men will be murdered? Just last month, Georgia Congressman John Lewis appeared at the Black Lives Matter mural, not far from the White House. In an interview with Gayle King, he remained forever hopeful. It's another step down a very, very long road toward freedom, justice for all humankind.

Throughout his life, there was a gentleness about him, peppered, though, with tenacity. He was arrested dozens of times for acts of peaceful civil disobedience. I met Rosa Parks in 1957 when I was 17. 1958, I met Dr. King. And these two individuals inspired me to get in trouble.

And I've been getting in good trouble, necessary trouble ever since. We're marching to our state capital to dramatize to our nation and to the world our determination to win first-class citizenship. In March of 1965, he led the march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, across the Edmund Pettus Bridge. That march will not continue. He almost paid for his convictions that day with his life on what history will forever call Bloody Sunday. I was the first person to be hit, and I still have the scar on my forehead.

I thought I was going to die on this bridge. Unlike Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. or Malcolm X, John Lewis wasn't frozen in history. He was a living presence, forever reminding us that we could do better, we should do better, and in his mind, we'll do better.

I really believe if we get it right in America, maybe it can serve as a model for the rest of the world. It was a silent walk. We were not saying a word. Back in 1998, Sunday morning's Rita Braver, joined by Congressman John Lewis, returned to the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, seen of one of the landmark confrontations of the civil rights movement of the 1960s. Rita describes Lewis as one of the most inspirational people she's ever met, and you're about to see why. When you see something that is not right, not just, not fair, you have a moral obligation to say something, to do something. Watching Congressman John Lewis at work on Capitol Hill, Don't give up. Don't give in.

Keep it vague. it was hard to believe that he grew up achingly poor in rural and segregated Alabama. I saw those signs that said white men, colored men. You saw the water fountain marked colored, the water fountain marked white. I saw white waiting, colored waiting. As a child, did this make you feel angry?

Did it make you feel sad or embarrassed? As a child, I felt angry. I wanted to check the book out of a library, the public library, and I was told that black people could not check books out, so I couldn't use the public library. And all of this just made me more and more determined to get an education, to find a way to change the system and find a way to get out. And indeed, Lewis did change the system. We talked with him at Brown Chapel in Selma, Alabama, one of the most important cities in civil rights history. And though it took years for many Americans to learn his name, John Lewis was one of the key leaders of the civil rights movement. I have been deeply inspired by Martin Luther King, Jr., and I wanted to get involved. So at 17, a scholarship student at the American Baptist Theological Seminary in Nashville, Tennessee, John Lewis joins with a small group of young people dedicated to nonviolent protests.

They become known as the sit-in kids, their mission to desegregate lunch counters and movie theaters in Nashville. It was the first big story I ever covered. These young people were my heroes. I watched them from that day in February 1960 and thought they were doing something historic. The late Pulitzer Prize-winning author David Halberstam spent years documenting the story of the young people who changed history.

There was something so unshakable to him, so strong, so fearless, so focused, that I thought, oh, he's going to endure. And at those sit-ins in Nashville, Lewis does endure violence and abuse. People would come up, they would pull us off the lunch counter stool, pour hot chocolate or coffee in our hair, down our back, put lighted cigarettes out in our hair. He is also beaten, the first of many beatings and more than 40 arrests in his years in the civil rights movement. But in the end, Nashville surrenders to the sit-in kids. Lunch counters and other facilities are desegregated, but Lewis and other young people are not ready to stop. They form the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, known as SNCC.

They had become warriors, a warrior. You can't say, well, we've just, I mean, we've got totality of segregation, but we've just won a Woolworths hamburger, let's go home. I mean, there's a dynamic, and the more you do, and the more you go up against the beast of racism, the more there was to do. For Lewis, that means joining the first Freedom Rides, trying to desegregate bus stations in the South.

He is beaten and imprisoned. Other Freedom Riders are attacked by the Ku Klux Klan. Their bus fire bombed in Anniston, Alabama. Even people in the black community said we should stop the Freedom Rides. It was too dangerous. Well, wasn't it? It was a dangerous mission, and we knew that from the outset.

You actually wrote wills out. We wrote wills, but it was important for us to make a statement that the nonviolent movement, the philosophy of nonviolence, could not be defeated by acts of violence. So the protests go on in places like Birmingham, Alabama, where police turn fire hoses and dogs on high school students. Halberstam says the young people leading the movement followed a deliberate strategy. We are going to have to lure the beast out, and the beast is going to have to lash back at us, and when we do that, people will see, but it is going to entail great risk. And of course, the additional factor was that this was going to be in this new America of modern communications.

It would be caught on television. And so the civil rights movement captures the nation's attention, and in June of 1963, young John Lewis, as chair of SNCC, is invited to join other senior civil rights leaders, including Dr. King, to meet with President Kennedy and tell him there will be a March on Washington for civil rights. The Kennedy administration did not want any part of the March on Washington. Well, they didn't see it as a good thing. They were also looking toward the 1964 election, and they didn't want to do anything to upset the South. That day, August 28, 1963, it was unbelievable.

It was unreal. Lewis is one of the youngest leaders to speak that day. We are tired of being beaten by policemen. We are tired of being our people locked up in jail over and over again.

And just to holler, be patient. How long can we be patient? We want our freedom, and we want it now. The march, along with the Freedom Rides and the sit-ins, leads to passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

But there are still barriers that need breaking. Lewis and others in the movement start training college students from all over the country to go south to register voters and inevitably to be arrested. A key battleground will be Selma, Alabama, where only 2 percent of blacks of voting age are registered to vote. I do further personally swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States and the Constitution of the state of Alabama. You take this oath, please say I do.

I do. But Selma authorities continue to resist change, and that leads to one of the major events in civil rights history and in John Lewis's life. There's no plaque here, huh? There's a plaque.

I mean, here it is. On Sunday, March 7, 1965, 600 people led by Hosea Williams and John Lewis began a march to Montgomery. A historical plaque with your name on it. It's somewhat unbelievable that the people of Alabama and the city of Selma will see fit these many years later to place a historic flag or marker here.

But not unbelievable at all when you think about what happened as Lewis and Williams lead the protesters over Pettus Bridge on the day that becomes known as Bloody Sunday. What did you see down there? At this point, I could see lines and lines of state troopers. It's an unlawful assembly. You are to disperse. You are ordered to disperse.

Go home or go to your church. They were beaten back with canes and clubs and whips and tear gas and nausea gas. I was hit in the head by a state trooper with a nightstick.

I really believe to this day that I saw death. He's a simple man of great faith. That's his strength.

His strength limits him from being, you know, one of these great charismatic leaders. But one day people are going to look around and say, oh my God, that's one of the great black heroes America's ever produced. When you look back and see those pictures of young John Lewis and his friends, do you wonder how you got the courage to do what you did then? We had to do it. We had to do it. I think there's some force and sometimes I call it the spirit of history that maybe just maybe tracked us down and said, this is your time and you must do it.

If you don't, who will? A day at the office may never be the same even after this pandemic ends and we begin to go back to work. Our cover story is reported by John Blackstone. From skyscrapers in Manhattan to sleek campuses in Silicon Valley, offices across the country have been mostly empty for months. In some ways, this virus is a workplace virus.

It's an office virus. This is one of the few things that ever happened that shut every office in the world down. Designing new stuff.

Amol Sarves, co-founder and CEO of Notel, a company that designs and rents office space to major corporations internationally. Are you going to be making a lot of changes now? That is an understatement, John. The world is different and we're not going back to the old way. For some, that may mean not going back to the office, period. Tech giants Twitter and Square have told their employees they can work from home indefinitely. Other major companies plan to keep offices closed, at least until the end of summer, some until the end of the year.

That's not good for those in the real estate business like Sarva. That's certainly a thought that was through my mind these last few months. What if everyone can work from home forever? Before all this, on an average day at an average company, only about 80% of the people were in the office.

Well, in the future, maybe it's 50, maybe it's 60. Certainly this next few months, it's going to be 20 or 30% will be in the office. Those who do return may find a workplace that is not only healthier, it's actually more appealing. I mean, social distancing and professional distancing means your desks can't be shoulder to shoulder anymore. And I think a lot of people will be whispering, thank God, because they didn't love it. Are you going to keep that old office sort of as a museum piece of the way things used to be in the early 21st century?

I think it will indeed be a museum piece. The open office isn't really a new idea. As far back as the 1930s, companies crowded as many workers as they could into offices that looked much like factories. The proud product of Herman Miller Incorporated. And then in 1968, the furniture maker Herman Miller introduced the Action Office.

Action Office offers a full range of completely interchangeable components for all three working environments. We know it better today, of course, as the cubicle. The cubicle, fodder for humor from Dilbert cartoons to the 1999 film Office Space. The cure for the cubicle was a return to the open office, but updated. It became the preferred design for big technology companies. Open offices were depicted as cool and trendy, meant to encourage collaboration and the exchange of ideas.

But a study in 2018 found that forcing workers to sit side by side with no privacy actually resulted in a 72 percent decrease in face to face communication. Is it time to say, rest in peace, the open office plan? Yeah, the open office is over. It was already over for a lot of reasons. It was too noisy and you couldn't concentrate.

And it was well on its way out the door. But getting workers back into the office will take more than just moving desks further apart. But to have people make that change in their daily behavior after spending a few months at home requires confidence that it's not a life threatening situation to go to work.

David Levine is a professor in the Haas School of Business at UC Berkeley. What we need at this point is a lot of studies of what type of workplaces are safe and under what conditions. It's clear that having a door that shuts is a real advantage in stopping the movement of pathogens. But we don't know at this point how dangerous different types of open offices are. To reduce the dangers of returning to the office, routines that would have seemed invasive a few months ago are likely to become common. New procedures here at CBS require that before employees go into their office, they use their cell phone to connect with a nurse, then take their own temperature and show the nurse they don't have a fever. Other companies are doing the same and more.

Look, the privacy considerations are so vivid. We have had the ability for a long time to track where staff are. Are they in the office? Are they at home?

Are they on a trip somewhere on a private vacation? That was all possible before. But it never made enough sense to the people and the companies that it would be a deal worth making. I think a lot of companies are going to propose that deal and staff are going to have to decide, is it worth it for me? The value of returning to the office is a calculation both workers and employers are beginning to make. Managers have learned two things. A lot of what they've learned is how much work can be done remotely. At the same time, this distancing has emphasized there is real value in interaction. The water cooler is more than just a cartoon symbol. It really is a place of social interaction, a place of communication, of social bonding.

And workplaces do work better when they have more of that interaction. Don't take any wooden nickels is the kind of advice that might not fly with the hard currency-loving folks in the town our Luke Burbank has visited. Like a lot of small towns, Tenino, Washington, was hit hard economically by the COVID shutdown. Residents like Lori Mollenbry, an out-of-work school bus driver, have been struggling.

It's been really difficult. I mean, I've been washing windows, scrubbing floors, cutting down trees, mowing lawns, whatever I can for a buck. But there's something unusual going on in this town of 1,800 people.

The city government of Tenino is doing what it can to help folks like me and my family. But not with a check or even a debit card, but with, believe it or not, a pile of wood. Every once in a while, I run into a cashier that hasn't taken it before. But it's just a blast, you know? I mean, I'm paying for food with something historical, you know?

That's right. The town is printing its own money, $10,000 worth, on thin sheets of wood that can only be spent in Tenino. And it's not the first time. In fact, the city issued its first wooden currency way back in 1931 during the Great Depression. They printed $10,000.

Out of the $10,000, only 40 bucks came back. Wow. It was so popular as a souvenir, just like these are today. Tenino's COVID-era wood currency is printed on the same machine. This is an 1890 Chandler Price Platon Press.

That's what this is called. Lauren Ackerman is the president of the Tenino Depot Museum and is the only person in town who knows how to operate the 19th century machine that printed Tenino's Depression-era currency. You're literally printing money.

Printing money? This is totally legal? We think so. They haven't called us yet. Maybe after this story, they'll give us a call and let us know we should stop. Wayne Fournier is a firefighter and Tenino's mayor.

We met at the town's famous quarry pool, which is closed due to the pandemic. He says when the idea came up to start printing wood script, as it's called, he had to do some research. I started by googling what money is. It just started out as simple as that.

What the concept is, what currency is, what fiat currency is, trying to understand those things and wrap my mind around them. Yeah, I just, you know, all the information is out there on the Internet. I guess I haven't thought of that. So it's like you're the mayor of this city. The city has a history of doing its own currency when times get tough. And yet when you're going to try to actually do it yourself, you had to kind of like Google it and figure out like how it works.

What is economics? You know, I'm a firefighter. I'm not a, you know, I'm not an accountant.

I'm not a, you know, I guess I'm a mayor, you know. The wood money has drawn attention from all over the world. But lest anyone chalk it up as just a joke or publicity stunt, it's been much more than that to people like Lori Mollenbrae. It's been a godsend, you know, I mean, I could buy things that I couldn't buy because like I said, I was scrapping for any kind of work I could get. I was barely able to buy food. When we caught up with her, Mollenbrae was buying groceries with her wooden money, but she could have also paid her water bill with it, got her prescriptions filled at head-ins, the town drugstore, or even had a tasty meal at Don Juan's Mexican Kitchen. As humans, when stuff like this happens, we go into survival mode and we start thinking, okay, so these are my expenses, can I dine out?

Probably not. Marcela Martinez's family owns Don Juan's. So I think this money has allowed people to have that and even people who probably really do need it, who need to have their groceries every week and couldn't afford it, I think that this wooden money really helped them. The money also helps Tenino's businesses when they redeem the bills with City Hall for regular cash. With all the attention the money is getting, each bill is numbered, signed, and features a rough Latin translation of the phrase, we've got this handled, collectors have been reaching out, hoping to get their hands on some. That is incredible. But good luck getting Lori Mollenbrae's share. I have actually been offered up to $300 for it, but I won't sell it because, first of all, it's meant to be here in the community, stay in the community, it was meant for a boost for us and for the businesses, and second of all, it's too much fun spending it. So here's to us.

The Good Fight, the final season, now streaming exclusively on Paramount+. Steve Hartman has found an artist who creates tributes to hospital workers free of charge, and it's left him wealthy beyond words. When Steve Derrick of Clifton Park, New York, paints a portrait, there's no such thing as a touch-up. He includes every bruise, bag, and blood vessel. You're not capturing them at their best moment.

I think I am. Interesting. That's when they're strongest, not when everything's rainbows and butterflies behind them. Indeed, the only thing his subjects have behind them is a 12-hour hospital shift. In the paintings, you see the marks from the masks, the fight in their eyes, and the admiration the artist has for all of them. When this pandemic began, Steve says he wanted to do something as a thank you to those on the front lines, so the amateur artist spent hours in his basement painting tributes to these warriors. So far, he's done about a hundred portraits, many nurses here at Albany Medical Center in Albany, New York. And although Steve refuses payment of any kind, he says he's gotten very rich in another way.

I'm right here. It's just, that's the payment. That's the reason I do it. Wealth beyond words. Steve says he has been overwhelmed by the impact his paintings have had on his subjects, like Albany Med ER nurse Michelle Hanna.

You know, it doesn't make me look glamorous by any stretch of the imagination, but it makes me look like who and what I am and what I was doing. Michelle recently stopped by to meet Steve and check out an exhibit of his work at the Albany Center Gallery. These are amazing. She was deeply moved by the art. It's the most beautiful thing anybody's ever done for me. But even more so by the artist and his large scale generosity. Steve will now be giving away every portrait to the person in it, a forever mirror reflecting that time in their lives when they were at their most beautiful. Michelle Miller is in conversation this morning with Academy Award winning actor Lewis Gossett Jr. You must be the young couple who found that bottle this afternoon. We'll talk about that later. If you come back. Lewis Gossett Jr. has made a career out of commanding performances deep down inside.

You know that all these other boys and girls are better than you are not right now, right? As Richard Gears drill sergeant and an officer and a gentleman, he turned basic training into a masterclass, a working actor since the early 1950s. He's played hundreds of roles over the decades, 70 years, that is a long time. That's a miracle.

That's a blessing. He's been a fighter pilot, a musician, even an alien. And at 84 years old, he's in no rush to call it quits. I take it retiring isn't something you're considering. As long as I'm here, there's a job to do for the benefit of us all, for what it's worth.

Born in 1936, Gossett grew up in the melting pot of Coney Island, New York, surrounded by friends and families who cared for one another, especially around dinner time. We had nothing. That's what we thought we had. My parents didn't get home in time. I had a choice.

I could have some filter fish, I have lasagna, I have menudo, corned beef and cabbage, depends on who was home. He had dreams of being a doctor or athlete, but a high school English teacher saw something else in the class president. This is a Louie. I see they're looking for a young man to play a lead in a Broadway show. I know you never saw a play, but tell your mother to take you down there Sunday.

What can you lose? You got the part? I got the part. On Broadway at 17. And by 23, he was already working with legends as an original cast member in A Raisin in the Sun. Hey, look, honey, we're going to the theater.

We're not going to be in it, you know. Lorraine Hansberry's tale of a black family on the south side of Chicago. We're fortunate to have worked with Sidney Poitier, Diana Sands, Ruby Dee. What a pleasure. Showed me what was good and what was bad. They taught me about that. I fell in love.

It's in my bloodstream. And soon he set his sights on Hollywood, but it wasn't open arms that awaited him. So then your agent gets your role on television and you fly out to L.A. First day in L.A., what happened?

Oh, Sam Cook was doing the thing within five minutes. Gossett was driving down the road listening to the radio when he was stopped by police. So I turned it off and I looked at the cops. They said, who are you? I said, Lewis Gossett, I'm here to do, just shut up. Took me out of the car and put me on a curb and they looked at me and I'd never had that done to me, even though I'd been in the south.

Went out to the farm. After about 25 minutes, behavior is over, turn that music down. Get back in the car and go another 10 feet. Ah, stop.

Now the boss is there with big belly. Get out. Now I'm on the ground in front of my own car. They're still looking for something. Another 15 minutes and they came back and handcuffed me to a tree for three hours.

1966. A tree. A tree.

Yeah, palm tree. Something happened to my system. Me to have to look over and be careful because that sensation did damage to me.

So when they say black lives matter, all lives matter because not only did they hurt me, but they hurt themselves. While the experience changed him, it would not stop him. Gossett kept working.

Wouldn't take too long shooing that horse if I was you. And in 1977, landed the pivotal part of Fiddler in Roots, which at the time was the most watched TV miniseries in history. Describe Fiddler. Folks thought he was the Uncle Tom of the series. It was a mistake. So a mistake. He's not an Uncle Tom?

No, there was no such thing as an Uncle Tom. Without that survival thing, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you. We have to find a way to get our needs met. And you think nothing about me? About you, Fiddler? Yeah, me. Me, me, me.

We look for those magic moments as actors and actresses when there's a lightning in a bottle. Roots was big, but what came next made history. With his riveting portrayal in An Officer and a Gentleman, Gossett earned rave reviews and something else. The winner is Louis Gossett Jr.

He became the first black American to win the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor. When your name is actually called, did you believe it? No, I didn't. My agent hit me in the chest and said, they'd mentioned your name. And I'd look at him because I thought I was asleep. And I looked around and there was applause.

That's supposed to be possible. So I said, thank you. That's a piece of history. But with success came excess and Gossett would fall victim to his own fame and addiction.

I'd get all the good reviews, which I did. And then finally the field was set and fertilized with the people that I thought were having the best fun, black and white. They're laughing a lot.

They had all the girls, the Studio 54, all the nightclubs, all the Playboy mansions and stuff. They invited me in. I thought that was it. It turned out that was not it. Got caught with all that stuff. And with each time I did it, I got worse.

So thank God I was able to correct myself and turn it around. Clean and sober, Gossett continues to act. I'm the one who strung your chief of police out. He's an HBO's watchman and has two new films out this year, ladies and gentlemen, including The Cuban, where he plays a man with Alzheimer's disease. Lewis Gossett Jr. is committed to his craft, but the greatest advice he says he gives isn't about acting. It's about understanding. We better take care of ourselves and one another better, otherwise nobody's going to win anything.

We need each other quite desperately from mutual salvation. Time for a taste of what's cooking. Jim Axelrod knows just the spot. Behind this hole in the wall at this hole in the wall in Laramie, Wyoming is a you won't believe it situation from the world of truck stop cuisine. If you'd bet me, I would have been $100 there'd be no decent food of any kind in here.

Yeah, well, she would have lost that bet. Just off exit 290 on I-80, the Indian food Mintu Panda and his staff are cooking up in this small kitchen behind the window guarantees that this smells like we're in Mumbai, not in Laramie, not in Laramie, no doubt. Just a few feet away from the motor oil, the military hats, the trucker shirts. You can smell it. That's a very familiar smell for Indian food.

That's it. Our storage shelves full of turmeric, coriander and other spices maybe you haven't heard of. This is a leaf. It's called kasuri methi. I mean, if you start putting this on, you will not eat anything without it. There's a rice steamer with no off switch and always full pot of chai and the soul of any Indian kitchen, a clay oven, the tandoor, the tandoor the flavor goes in the meat, not out of the meat. Like if you put in a grill, everything kind of drips down this way, the heat is all around.

It's surrounded by the heat. When Pander bought this truck stop in twenty fourteen, it came with a griddle for hot dogs and hamburgers. That's all you need? That's all I need.

All right, thank you. But figuring truckers could get those up and down I-80, he went with a menu they wouldn't find anywhere else. Did they ever come in and say, all you got is Indian food and I want meatloaf, I want a hamburger, I want a strip steak. So then we tell them, hey, try this, you're going to have that on the next stop anyway. That's mild spicy, not sort of spicy.

Ninety nine out of hundred, they would call again, hey, I want something what I ate last time. That stuff is delicious. I want that meal.

I don't know what was named, but this guy, he gave it to me. I think it's number twenty nine. You have all this today or what? Good.

Yeah. From cross country truckers, I don't know how to rate it, you know, one to ten. I mean, I'd say it's probably, you know, a good nine.

I mean, how's it going? To locals like Sheriff's deputy Bill Yates. If this is the area I'm patrolling, I know where I'm going to stop to eat lunch. Mintu's food has been a hit.

Deputy Yates is partial to both the yellow curry and the broader field division that comes with it. It's bringing the world here rather than keeping our world small. Strictly speaking, the restaurant accounts for a small part of Mintu's revenue, but that's not how Mintu speaks or thinks. I would say five to ten percent at the most.

Ten percent. So why bother? There's not a whole picture of the food. The people come and get fuel, other stuff. So they would come in and spend five, six hundred dollars in fuel because they know they can get the meal they desire from last eight hundred miles here. He's opened another spot in Nebraska and will soon add a third in New Mexico. Turns out there's some money in all these smells and tastes, especially with the changing face of trucking. Almost nearly 19 percent of long haul truck drivers in America are now immigrants.

No surprise for you that you can recreate all that stuff in the middle of a truck stop on I-80? Well, that was the plan. So we succeeded.

All it took was for Mintu Pander to trust his gut and those of hungry truckers driving by. Actress Kim Novak certainly has had her ups and downs in the years after her starring role in Vertigo. But she's long since found satisfaction in a very different kind of art.

Mo Rocca has our Sunday profile. One exhibit at a recent art show in Youngstown, Ohio, an interpretation of Alfred Hitchcock's 1958 film Vertigo, which starred Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak. The artist of this painting? None other than Kim Novak. My art is really my love. It's what my heart is, you know. I've been following your movie since the fifties.

Oh, you're amazing. In the 1950s and early 1960s, Kim Novak was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. She's most famous for Vertigo. About the obsession of a retired police detective with a mysterious blonde named Madeleine.

And his attempts to remake a brunette named Judy into Madeleine. If I let you change me, will I do it? I do what you tell me.

Will you love me? Yes. Both women were played by Novak. Was it a challenging role or I should say roles for you? The wonderful thing about Alfred Hitchcock is in one way he is obsessed with changing you the physical sense of the character has to be exactly the way. But he allows you total freedom in the way you play the part.

But freedom doesn't exactly describe the studio system that controlled Hollywood in the 1950s. When Harry Cohn, the head of Columbia Pictures, put a then 21-year-old Marilyn Pauline Novak under contract, he intended to make her over starting with her name. He wanted me to be Kit Marlowe.

You see, they made up their mind behind my back. We all decided your name is going to be Kit Marlowe. I said I'm not going to be Kit Marlowe, how can I be Kit Marlowe?

I said I understand I won't be Marilyn, but I will not be Kit Marlowe. Novak's upbringing in Chicago seems to have prepared her well for standing up to the man Time Magazine once called a Hollywood despot. Harry Cohn was frightening. My father was frightening.

They had that in common. Novak's father was a railroad worker and strict with his youngest daughter. Well, your father had tried to make you right-handed, right? Yes.

Yeah. In her time with Novak on her ranch in rural Oregon, it was apparent that her conflicted feelings toward her father remain raw. I loved my father. I adored my father, but it terrified me. He was a fine man in his way. But he was tough, yeah? He was a tough man. I loved him, and I hated him, but I loved him more than I hated him.

When it came to dealing with Harry Cohn, the newly named Kim Novak had a novel approach. I brought him Chocolate Fudge at Christmas, and I remember him actually tear up. Did you have affection for him?

No, not really. You didn't? No, but in a way I did because he made good movies, you know? He always picked out good movies for me, and I appreciated that. Good movies like 1955's Picnic, where the 22-year-old starred opposite William Holden. If this dance scene crackles with electricity, Novak says that's because a tornado was approaching the Kansas town where they were shooting.

And I think the electricity and the air had so much to do with all that we were feeling, and we were both charged with all that energy that was out there. The life of an actor wasn't something Novak expected, but modeling work brought her out west. Soon Novak was working with some Hollywood heavyweights, including Hitchcock, who knew exactly how he wanted his leading lady to look. Tell me about the wardrobe for Vertigo.

What happened? I went to Edith Head, you know, that suit's going to drive me crazy, and she says, well, I think, my dear, you better talk to Hitchcock about that. The gray suit Novak wore as Madeleine was form-fitting. She said, yes, my dear, that's exactly what I want you to wear.

I think it will be very happy in that. He wanted you to be uncomfortable. Exactly. That's what I realized. I have to have that discomfort.

That's the way my character should feel. Did you like Hitchcock? I adored him. But Novak didn't always adore Hollywood. When Harry Cohn died suddenly in 1958, she found herself professionally adrift, offered mostly beach movie scripts.

In 1966, she left Hollywood. You know, I wasn't going to wait around. And I thought, you know, what I'd like to do, if I have my choice, I want to go to Big Sur and go back to painting. And for better or worse, I left Hollywood. I let in very few people in my life, and I got involved with animals in my life. I had to learn who I was again through animals, because animals know who you really are. Animals don't care about box office. Exactly.

Money or anything else. With all the animals in her life, it's perhaps no surprise she married a veterinarian, Robert Malloy. Novak's life these past few decades has been quiet, even idyllic, mostly. In 2014, when Novak made a rare public appearance at the Oscars, social media lit up with vicious comments about her appearance. Novak sought refuge in her painting, as she has for most of her life. What did painting do for you after you came home from the Oscars? It was a tool for me. It was a tool that I could express what I was feeling, whether it's good feelings or bad feelings. In that case, it was bad feelings.

But it was like all of a sudden, who cares what anyone else thinks of you? Painting is more than an avocation for her. At that recent show in Youngstown, Ohio, she felt the love. Thank you so much for taking the time out. I love you.

Thank you. Now 87, Kim Novak is still finding herself. How much of Kim Novak was a put on, an act, a persona? All of it and none of it. I don't know.

And I don't understand what I said, but yet I do. The burdens of a life in standup comedy are no joke. Just ask our Jim Gaffigan. What's your job like now? The reason I ask is because this CBS Sunday morning thing isn't my only job.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I love doing these segments, but like many of you, I have a couple jobs. Well, I had a couple of jobs. See, in addition to doing these things, I'm also a writer and an actor. Well, I was an actor.

Then again, during the pandemic, I've been acting like I'm not going crazy. My main job or my day job is actually a night job. I'm a standup comedian. Because when you have kids, you lie to them all the time, you're like, you wouldn't like this ice cream.

It's very spicy. For the past 30 years, 300 nights a year, I perform standup comedy. I performed everywhere, clubs, bars, laundromats, theaters, arenas.

I even performed once at a rodeo because I have a good agent. But then, boom, COVID hits. Getting groups together during a highly contagious pandemic is not a good idea. So what's a comedian to do? A comedian needs an audience. Standup is a conversation. There's no fourth wall. Sure, the conversation is kind of one-sided. Only the comedian has a microphone and the audience communicates by laughter.

But it's a communication. The laughter of the audience is not just enjoyed by the comedian. It's enjoyed by everyone. There's a sense of community that's built. Can standup be performed virtually via Zoom? I suppose. But nothing beats the in-person experience.

But how? Last Sunday, in the parking lot of a horse track in New Jersey, I performed my first drive-in standup show. This is my first one.

That's right. I performed standup comedy to close to a thousand cars. People were sitting inside the cars or socially distanced on top of their roofs. Was it ideal? No. Were the laughs as loud?

Definitely not. But it was a show. And for a couple hours, through my jokes and through the flicking lights and the faint laughter and the beeping horns, a community was built. Did that community look like a traffic jam?

It sure did. But I'll take it. I'm Jane Pauley.

We hope you'll join us when our trumpet sounds again next Sunday morning. This is The Takeout with Major Garrett. This week, Stephen Law, ally of Mitch McConnell and one of Washington's biggest midterm money men. List for me the two Senate races where you think Republicans have the best chance of taking a Democratic seat away. Nevada, New Hampshire. Georgia. Well, Georgia is right up there, but New Hampshire is a surprise. In New Hampshire, people really just kind of don't like Maggie Hassan. For more from this week's conversation, follow The Takeout with Major Garrett on Apple podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts.
Whisper: medium.en / 2023-01-28 15:43:13 / 2023-01-28 16:02:05 / 19

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