Been There, Done That

by Al Roker Deborah Roberts

  Despite the many negative images and stereotypes I grew up seeing in the media, thanks to the love and support of my family and a healthy dose of self-confidence I developed along the way, I believed I could do more, be more and become anything I wanted to be. So when it came time for college, I wanted to step away from the pack. Bennie had ventured to Miami, Florida, for fashion college, but my sister Annette had graduated from Fort Valley State, a small, historically black college just fifteen miles from home, and Tina, four years older than me, had gone to Valdosta State, a small school just south of Perry. Many of my close friends were applying to local colleges too. Believe me, just making it to college was a huge achievement, and these women were all my role models. But I wanted to make a serious break away from home. I was accepted to the University of Georgia—the “Princeton of the South”—some two hundred miles northwest of Perry. With its renowned journalism school, strong academic program and nationally known Georgia Bulldogs football team, it was a gigantic step for me and turned out to be the perfect choice. It was the place where I would discover my true passion and find the courage to take flight. With my mom’s encouraging words never far from my thoughts, it was where I learned how to stand on my own two feet.

  My memories of segregation are often top of mind when I am invited to speak at a women’s conference or to a group of aspiring journalists, because in many ways they truly shaped so much of who I became. I usually begin my talks with a line that sums up my life.

  “I am an unlikely success story.”

  Throughout my career, I’ve had the opportunity to travel all over the country and around the world, and I’ve discovered that no matter where we live or what our economic station in life, most of us have the same goals: to lead happy, confident lives and to reach our full potential without bias and barriers.

  Though we grew up with few advantages, my family life set me on a course of confidence and determination. That burning desire for opportunity, instilled by my parents, is probably the most common subject women want to talk about everywhere I go. Whether I’m on assignment in Africa or speaking to a YWCA group in Ohio, women are thirsty for examples of how they can overcome obstacles or grab that brass ring. When I was a junior in college I interned at a small station, WMAZ – TV in Macon, Georgia. Being new to the business, I made multiple mistakes while I was there! For example, while helping a reporter shoot video for her story, I accidently pressed the stop button when I thought I was rolling tape and never recorded her interview. Naturally, she was furious. I thought I’d be let go immediately, but I wasn’t. I was reassigned, given simple typing assignments—not where I wanted to be.

  After I had a few tearful conversations with my mom, she wisely counseled me that life is about learning to take the hard knocks. She’d endured her share in the segregated South, and I’d have to learn to take mine if I wanted to make it in the real world. She said, “When you get knocked down, get up and push back,” and that it would make me stronger. As usual, Mom was right. I worked harder, earned another internship, and landed my first job in TV just a month after graduation.

  Of course, now that I’m a mother myself, the notion of resilience is especially important to me. It is my never-ending mission to make sure my children have the opportunities to realize their goals in life and to help them change the world if they so choose. But opportunities alone are not enough. I also want to instill in our children the confidence and determination to reach out and grab those opportunities when they come along—or to create them through sheer will if necessary!

  AL

  My Most Memorable Presidential Inauguration

  In my thirty-seven years at NBC and the Today show, I have covered many historical events, from the eruption of the Iceland volcano to Superstorm Sandy. I have proudly attended six presidential inaugurations, but nothing could have prepared me for the day I witnessed a moment in American history I never believed I would live to see: the swearing in of the first black man as President of the United States.

  When I drove to my location for the parade, I passed the Lincoln Memorial as I had done so many times in my life, and at first glance I couldn’t figure out what I was looking at. I could see the National Mall all right, but the size of the crowd took me by surprise; it didn’t look like any inauguration I’d attended in the past. I felt stunned that so many had gathered. But of course they were all there, as they had come years before to hear Martin Luther King Jr., to witness a seminal moment in history. I thought about my mom and how much she would have loved to see what I was seeing. After Obama’s first debate against Hillary Clinton, I vividly recall her saying with a conviction I’d rarely heard before, “That man is going to be president.” And she was right. Sadly, Mom didn’t live to see the fruition of her dream, but I was there in her place and in her honor.

  After the swearing in, I took up my place along Pennsylvania Avenue, ready to broadcast the parade as I had done so many times before, beaming with great pride and joy to be both a black man and a proud American.

  Traditionally, the president and first lady get out of their car and walk the last quarter mile or so along the parade route. I am usually perched directly across from the White House, reporting for the Today show. I was so excited at the sight of our new president and his wife as they made their way toward my position. I felt like a starstruck kid as they got closer.

  “Mr. President!” I yelled as loudly as I could over the crowd.

  I saw Mrs. Obama point me out to our new president.

  I knew this was my chance to connect, so I asked him the only question I could think of:

  “How does it feel?”

  “It feels GREAT!” he responded, as he kept walking without losing his stride.

  So I like to tell people that technically I got the very first interview with the new president.

  And I suppose I did.

  It was certainly a moment I’ve never forgotten.

  For a brief time that day, our country was united in hope, with the promise of a new beginning.

  “Yes We Can” had become a message and a belief that gave Americans a newfound confidence and optimism when we needed it.

  As I watched the president make his way to the White House that cold January afternoon, I looked around at everybody who had come to witness this event and to suspend the division of parties to give our new president his due respect. It had been a long time since that had happened. He had told us that we were not red states and blue states, but united states, and so it seemed at that moment.

  I remember watching the election returns with Nicky and Leila the night President Obama was first elected. Deborah was covering the returns for ABC in Harlem as I tried my very best to explain the importance of this win, especially to Leila, who was old enough to understand the electoral process. It was almost surreal. In fact, as we sat watching the returns, there were even a few moments when I privately wondered, “Is this really happening?” I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was going to pull the rug out from under my feet at the last moment. Surely someone would find a loophole—a hanging chad, so to speak.

  But they didn’t.

  One by one, each network called the race.

  Barack Obama would become the forty-fourth president of the United States.

  Oddly, I wasn’t emotional at first.

  I didn’t cry that night, or the next day during our extended Today show broadcast. I can’t say the full impact of the election hit me until the inaugural ceremony. When I saw more than a million people show up to support our country’s first black president, I was truly gobsmacked.

  The realization sank in that, despite all the imperfections of our nation, we indeed live in a country where you can be whoever and whatever you dream of.

  YES WE CAN.

  It doesn’t mean you will achieve everything you set out to accomplish, but the potential is there, and if ever my children hav
e doubts about that, I will remind them of watching President Obama being sworn in.

  In many ways, Obama followed a traditional path to success. He attended an Ivy League college and an Ivy League law school. He was a senator whose renown spread through a bestselling book and a remarkable speech at the Democratic National Convention. But in so many other ways his path was unusual, beginning with the fact that he was half African American—and not just African American but African American! He grew up not in Texas or Illinois or another battleground state, but in Hawaii and abroad. He did not look like most people’s picture of a U.S. president.

  As a typical baby boomer, I was raised to believe that success depended on a traditional path, for example, going to college immediately after graduating high school—certainly that’s what I thought my older daughter, Courtney, ought to do after she graduated. I had watched her struggle in school for years, yet despite her challenges I pleaded with her to do the right—the expected—thing. Instead, she kept on pushing for what she believed in, taking responsibility for her life and achieving her dream of becoming a chef.

  To me, she not only personifies resilience but the courage it takes to insist on what is important to her and do what she wants to do. That independence and fierce determination couldn’t make me any prouder as a parent. To watch her grow and become her own person has inspired me in ways she may never know.

  We all have our own path to walk in life.

  We all have the ability to become difference makers.

  Not everyone is destined to make history, and that’s okay. As long as you strive to make history in your own life, you are a difference maker. I tell my kids that each morning brings a clean slate; every day they have the opportunity to make choices, to start all over, so they must choose wisely; those decisions will determine the outcome of their day.

  Four years after President Obama was first elected, I found myself on the parade route once again. Unfortunately, there were many people who didn’t like the outcome of the election, and people who were filled with doubt and fear about the future of our country. Hurricane Sandy had pummeled the East Coast two months earlier, and many cities were still dealing with the aftermath. The mood just wasn’t as joyous as the first time around. I had a slight feeling of melancholy as I watched the inaugural speeches, especially because it happened to be Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. Although I knew there would be four more years of a black president, the feeling of overwhelming unity and goodwill was no longer there.

  But even with all that, it was still a beautiful and exciting celebration of democracy. As I took my usual position on the parade route, my colleague Brian Williams tossed the shot to me and said, “Al Roker, the pressure is on. Can you get the president to acknowledge you again? Since you got the first interview with him after his first swearing in, let’s see if you can do it one more time!”

  Never one to back down from a challenge, the moment I spotted President and Mrs. Obama, I began shouting, “Mr. President!” as loudly as I could.

  Once again, Mrs. Obama pointed me out to the president.

  “Al, the weather’s great!” he called to me.

  “There you have it!” Brian Williams said.

  But that wasn’t the end.

  “Wait a minute. Vice President Biden has gotten out of his car. Al Roker with a double down. Can you get the vice president?” Brian Williams had challenged me again!

  “Mr. Vice President. Come over! Come on over!” I beckoned to him vigorously, but he said he couldn’t.

  “The Secret Service will kill me if I do.” Yet he ran over and shook my hand anyway.

  “I’m done!” I said as I dropped my mike and walked away.

  My producers thought I was being funny, but the truth is that I was suddenly overcome with emotion.

  I was a black kid from Queens. I had just been acknowledged by the first black president of the United States and the vice president had come over to shake my hand. All I could think about was what my parents would have said if they had lived to see this day. It was an overwhelming and special highlight of my career—one I will never forget. My only regret was not having my family next to me to share the moment of triumph and celebration—not just mine, but the collective achievement of our country. Of we, the people.

  DEBORAH

  Women of Influence

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been in search of people and moments of inspiration that make me a stronger woman, mother and wife. They’re all around us—if you simply take the time to look and listen. Many people find tremendous hope and inspiration in self-help books, but I’ve discovered there are valuable lessons in everyday experiences and encounters. My greatest life-changing lessons often take place on the job or during some other public event. I remember the death-row inmate I once interviewed. He was sincerely remorseful for the crime he committed and was living a remarkably philosophical life behind bars, grateful for each moment. Then there was the landscape worker I met who had vowed to devote her life to being an earthly angel, raising money to fund lifesaving and anonymous loans to people on the verge of disaster. At these moments, I walk away from the cameras humbled and changed, determined to live my life just a little better and with greater purpose.

  Eight years ago I had the great pleasure to sit down with Michelle Obama just before the election that would send her family to the White House and change history. I had met her at a luncheon for Ebony magazine and was captivated by her warmth and lack of pretense. She was cordial and relaxed, casually blending into the sea of women, but her charisma was unmistakable. I was immediately intrigued by this brown-skinned woman who was making headlines in the black community for her competence and authenticity as she gradually stirred interest nationwide. I made my way toward her through the crowd, reached out my hand and introduced myself. I asked if we could possibly schedule a TV interview sometime to tell her story. With a gracious smile, she replied that she liked my work and asked me to give my contact info to Katie Lelyveld McCormick, her cheerful assistant.

  I immediately felt a connection with Mrs. Obama. We both had made our way from humble roots. She came from the South Side of Chicago and I was from small-town Georgia. Though I grew up in a large family and she had only a brother, we were both guided by examples of hardworking, strong parents who struggled to provide for their families. Like me, Mrs. Obama knew what it was like to live in a home where money was tight. Yet Michelle Obama had excelled, graduating from Princeton and finding success in corporate America, and now with her husband making a legitimate move to change the course of political history, she was poised to make history too.

  After months of negotiating logistics with Katie, I finally found myself sitting in a high-rise hotel room in downtown Chicago with a producer and a camera crew, awaiting Mrs. Obama’s arrival. It was an exciting moment in my career. She walked into the room at the appointed time all smiles, projecting warmth and a supercool vibe at the same time. Though I had interviewed my share of celebrities, as she reached for my hand to say hello, I was hit by a slight case of nerves—a rarity for me. But Michelle Obama radiates power and confidence unlike anyone I have ever met.

  I was momentarily awestruck.

  I took a couple of quiet breaths and then we both sat down.

  We made small talk about the weather and our children as we put on our mikes. I had been promised fifteen minutes with her, but she coolly whispered to me that she would give me all the time we needed, immediately putting me at ease. It’s usually my job to keep the interviewee calm, not the other way around. I sure was grateful though.

  I keep a picture from that day in my office as a reminder of that special day. Mrs. Obama is beaming in a white blouse and black jacket, and I’m in a classic news reporter’s red blazer, holding my notepad—with an equally broad grin.

  Not many people at that point—including African Americans—truly believed that
a black candidate, even one with Barack Obama’s sterling credentials, had a real shot at the presidency. But Michelle Obama knew in her heart that her husband would win the election.

  When I asked her if minorities should support her husband and finally elect a black president, she quickly answered with a surprising “No.” She said that people should support her husband if they believe in his ideals and ability to change the country.

  We spoke for half an hour about her passionate hopes and dreams for the country and why she believed her husband was the answer. She was unruffled when I threw her some hardballs, pressing her about the Clintons, who many felt were dismissive of her husband’s chances during the rough-and-tumble of the campaign.

  “It’s all politics,” she said.

  Some people in the media had dubbed Michelle Obama “the Closer,” hinting at her ability to help close the deal between the voters and her husband. And after interviewing her that day, I understood why. Articulate, captivating and well versed on the issues, she was what we call in TV a “sound-bite machine.” She had confidence and was all kinds of savvy. This was a woman who believed. She believed in possibility and she believed in her husband.

  After the interview, with our mikes off, we compared notes about our hectic lives and motherhood. We have children around the same ages and agreed that we were in for big challenges as they entered adolescence. Yet another connection I felt to this amazing and inspiring woman, who wasn’t just an icon but a real woman—like when I complimented the beautiful patent leather boots she was wearing and she told me where to get them! I found them on sale and still refer to them as my Michelle Obama boots.

  As a reporter, I was pleased with the interview; as a woman, I was blown away by Michelle Obama. This was someone who had learned to push past barriers and to claim success despite the odds. Like me, and so many other minority women in the country, she knew what it was like to be the lone black woman in an office meeting. Yet she wasn’t the least bit discouraged or intimidated. No doubt she had dealt with her share of struggles and disappointments, but here she was, hopeful and brimming with enthusiasm.