The day I learned that even checkout time at a motel is something I take for granted.

About a year ago I hired someone to do some work at my house. During the conversation, I learned that this man was living in a motel with his wife and three small children. They had moved here for a job and things did not work out so he was taking any odd job he could get. New city, no roots, no job. His wife found a job and took the bus an hour-and-a-half each way so he could have the car. He was working his butt off doing everything from mowing lawns to moving and everything in between. They were caught in a cycle of being unable to afford an apartment because they were paying for a motel room. Even a cheap room is pretty pricey day after day. At that time, I was fortunate enough to have access to some vouchers for a motel chain. We used then for our team when traveling. Each voucher was good for one full night. I offered him several of them in hopes it would give them a breather and maybe help then save a little for an apartment.

So I gave him the vouchers and as luck would have it, they were for the chain they were currently staying in. Now these vouchers were part of a sponsorship deal that we had done for years. They were official, sent by the motel chain’s home office and the bearer simply needed to present them.

The morning after I gave him the vouchers he called me in a panic. The motel manager was accusing him of having stolen the vouchers. Worse yet, the manager was stating that if he was not checked out by 11am sharp (checkout time) that he would have the police remove the family and their belongings. Fearing an incident with police, this father of three told me he would just go. That he didn’t want to risk an incident once police became involved. He was genuinely scared. I asked to speak to the manager, who stated to me that the vouchers were stolen. I told him that they were not and that he was welcome to call his corporate marketing office to confirm but he refused. He insisted that they were stolen. I explained that we have had staff use these for years in cities all over the country at all hours of the day and night and have never had a problem. That the vouchers were not tied to a specific person or business. That the bearer simply had to present them. He did not believe me. I told him that I would leave my office and be there shortly to resolve this matter but that I would think twice before calling the police on a family with small children. He said I should hurry because if they were still in the room at 11am he was calling the cops. I stated that in all the years of nearly non-stop travel that I did for our business, I have never been threatened with the police if I was not out at exactly checkout time and, in fact, regularly request a late checkout with no incident. He told me to hurry. He then asked me to fax over a copy of my drivers license. I asked why, because my name was not on the voucher. In fact, no names were on them. He said he just needed it. And then it hit me. I said I’m not sending my license but if it comforts you to know, I’m white. I’m white and you’ll see I’m white and hopefully that will satisfy your miserable, worthless, racist, walking waste of space. I hung up and sped to the motel. I walked in and I am not sure what this person expected but he was genuinely shocked that I was indeed a white man.

In a fury by this point, I demanded to know how he determined the vouchers were stolen. He could not provide that information. I asked for anything In writing or posted somewhere that missing the checkout time by even one minute would constitute calling the police. There was nothing. At this point the time was about 11:05. I asked him if everyone that was supposed to be checked out at 11 had done so. He said no, not everyone. I asked where the police were. Shouldn’t they be there escorting all of those guests from their rooms? I asked if this man and his family had caused damage to the room. He said no. Were they loud? No. Any complaints? No. And just then a woman walked in with her key to check out. Maybe 25 years old. White. It’s about ten minutes past 11. I asked him if she was in danger of being reported to the police. The young woman was looked bewildered. I asked her if she was aware that at this establishment missing the checkout time would result in a police response. She half-laughed and told me that she had in fact been staying at this motel off and on for several weeks while an issue at her apartment was being repaired and that she was never out on time and says she was checking out. I told her that the man in the parking lot behind us with his wife and three kids were told quite the opposite. She was uncomfortable and that was not my intent but I was way beyond rational thought at this point. She turned in her key and signed something and left.

I asked the manager if he could explain ANY of this and he could not. I told him I would explain it for him. Because this man was black he must have stolen these vouchers. And he clearly could not be allowed to loiter in a room he paid for even one minute past checkout time. And had I been black I suppose I would have been part of this grand scheme as well. And then I said that from his accent I gathered he was not born in the United States. He said no he was not. He moved to this country ten years ago. I asked him if he was a manager or was he the actual franchisee. He stated that he was the franchisee. I asked if he had experienced any obstacles or difficulties in the ten years between emigrating to America and purchasing a motel franchise. He stated that he had. And I asked how then could he possibly be so quick to draw such an asinine conclusion about these vouchers. He said that they have a lot of trouble at this location. I asked him if I experienced trouble with someone from his country should I assume he and everyone else are ‘trouble’? Clearly I am ok because I’m white and you have generalized that we are all ‘not trouble’. He said he would honor the voucher. I said you must be crazy if you think I would leave children in an environment of hate and prejudice like this. I may have added some words that I won’t type here.

I helped the family finish packing their car and because their backseat was full and I had a car seat, I offered to have the boys ride with me and they could follow me to another location of the same chain so we could utilize the vouchers. So we headed out and as we are driving, these two boys of 8 and 4 years old physically jumped when they heard a siren. I told them that it had nothing to do with them but they were scared. I felt like I was living in an alternate reality. One where gift certificates and missing a checkout were the sources of insanity. We arrived at the other motel location. I went in and handed the vouchers to the person behind the desk. A black woman. Without incident, I was done and the room was booked in about five minutes. No scrutiny. No checking on the validity of the room vouchers.

I helped get the family loaded into the room and as I started to apologize for the whole thing, somehow, both the man and his wife began to apologize to me. I asked them to please, please not apologize. That I could not even think of the words to say, to even begin to explain what the hell had just happened. I was ashamed of everything and everyone involved and I said that I could not remotely comprehend in any way what they went through that morning. So I left and went back to work and on the way there I just broke. I pulled over and cried for ten minutes. I can’t really say what I was feeling. Shame, I guess. Embarrassment. Futility for sure. I am a fixer by personality. I always have to fix everything and that goes good and that goes bad as you fellow fixers can attest. But this was so beyond “fixing” that I could not fully take in the whole scope. I watched children being imprinted with this open racism at four years old. I watched an immigrant operate from the position of black and white that I think was learned behavior formed by the culture of our country. I saw the tiniest things that we take for beyond granted become objects of racial imbalance. Checkout time. Who thinks about that? I never did. But I always do now. A universal room voucher that didn’t apply to the whole universe, I guess. All of that and the thought that generations may still pass before this stops made me feel hopeless. But I guess that is nothing compared to the hopelessness felt by the victims of institutional racism the likes of which I witnessed in so many ways that morning.

I have never feared shopping or driving or jogging or checking out of a motel or paying with a gift certificate. Never.. I was only able to stand in that lobby and yell and rant as long as I did because I’m white. That’s it. That’s why. Is that privilege? It’s something. Debating the defining term simply takes the focus off what happened. And what happened was a black family was accused of stealing, threatened with forcible removal from a crappy motel room, and I was able to say my peace for 20 minutes and subsequently walk into an identical location with the same voucher and walk out with a room card in five minutes.

So I’ll let you, the reader, assign the definitive term since that seems to be a hot button debate suddenly. But whatever definition you choose, make sure it fits the dehumanization inflicted on two adults and three children who did nothing wrong. Nothing remotely close to being near wrong. And I, in my whiteness, walked through the whole thing unscathed, imposing power over the situation that was just...there. I didn’t earn that power. I didn’t ask for it or exude it. It was just there. I demanded, I got my way, I was allowed to stand in public and rant and question and I had no more or less right to do so than anyone else, yet I did have more right to do so than other human beings standing five feet from me. It’s not right. It was never right and will never be right. And it has to stop. It has to stop. For those three children. For your children. What do we want their world to look like? Because it’s up to us.

What they feel and think and believe will be shaped by us. What do you want their world to be?

William Rilenge

This image is just over 20 years old now. It was my first experience with a number of things - the media, organizing a gathering and as you can see, total failure. But the headline is misleading. And this is not the first time I have had to go back and look at that whole situation, everything that happened before, during and after it, and use it to remind myself that not everything works out exactly how we plan it, and that success, or at least some semblance of it, often comes disguised as failure.

In this instance, a three-year-old child was playing in his room on the 11th floor of a public housing complex here in St. Louis. It was early in the morning, on a typically hot June day. The child's mother had made repeated requests that a torn screen be repaired, as there was no air conditioning and a fan had to sit in the window. Those requests were not answered, and on this morning, something happened, something no one will ever know for certain, and before anyone else in the apartment was awake, the fan and the three-year-old fell eleven stories. Eleven. And like that, in an instant, the child was gone, Horrifically, terrifyingly gone. The next day, the story appeared in our local paper. Not on page one. Not on page two.It was reported, but there was no anger. No parents or teachers or advocates howling for justice. All I could think of, as the parent of two young children, was the terror the child must have felt. The grief that his mother must be enduring, knowing she had tried to get the window fixed multiple times. The absence of outrage was, well, outrageous. I did not know what to do, but I knew I needed to do something. Anything.

So I shared my feelings with my friend Mark, and he was equally upset. We watched and waited for the story to explode and it never did. With my wife's help (she was an animal welfare lobbyist at the time, and had dealt with all levels of bureaucracy) we tried to persuade the housing authority to mandate safety bars on all public dwellings over three stories. Nothing. It is hard to express now, in an age of viral news stories and online petitions, how little interest there was in what had happened. Was it race? Was it because it happened at a public housing complex and not a high-rise in a better part of town? I did not know, and frankly I did not care. I just wanted someone, anyone, to be as angry about it as I was. From that, a plan was formed.

We spent the next week calling every church, every community organization, every PTA. You name it, we called it. We planned a rally, a peaceful one, to be held at the building where this happened. We scheduled it for 1PM on the upcoming Sunday. We had commitments from pastors, community leaders, parents. They would all be there. We would peacefully but sternly insist that steps be taken to ensure this never happened again. And this was before Facebook, before the true wave of social media and online communities. We were using the phone book (for those not familiar, the phone book was a large publication that would appear on your doorstep every year and had everyone's name, address and phone number in it. Residential listings were in a white book, businesses in a yellow one. It was like people search or Google Places with no pop-ups). At the end of the week, we were ready.

Once everything was set, we faxed a press release out to all the local media (for those of you that don't know a fax machine was, don't worry about it. You won't need to know.) and when Sunday came around, Mark, my wife and I all drove to the apartment building. We got there early in anticipation of the inevitable throngs of people that would soon arrive to join the rally. And we continued to anticipate. And anticipate. And Anticipate. Because no one showed up. No one. Not one soul. Oh, except for the media. They ALL showed up. Television? Check. Radio? Check. Newspaper? Check. Crowd? Zip. And for the first time in my life (sadly, not the last though. But that is another story) I was standing in front of a bunch of reporters, and they wanted to know where everyone was. So did I, but I had no idea.

As you can see in the photo that was printed on page one of the next morning's paper, I was not exactly thrilled with how the rally turned out. Of course when that picture was taken, I did not anticipate that it would BE on the front page of the paper. Nor did I anticipate that the story would lead the newscasts later that night. But here is the thing I could not and did not grasp at the time - the story of no one showing up was exactly what ended up accomplishing what I thought would require hundreds, if not thousands, of people. I was young, 29 I think, (but so, so already bald) and I was so caught up in the complete failure of my 'plan' that I simply could not comprehend what had happened. The fact that no one cared made people care. It made news. It is not, in my opinion, what it should have taken to bring attention to this matter, but it did. And the fallout from that resulted in...safety bars being made mandatory on public buildings over three stories tall. Call it what you will - God, the Universe, Taylor Swift - but what I thought required many only required three. And the media. Who I liked back then.

All this is a long way of saying that we never know what will come of our 'failures'. That there is always hope. Always a chance that your efforts will pay off, even if it is not how you wanted or expected them to. And right now, I get the sense we all feel a bit like I did in that picture. Alone, scared, disappointed, worried. Not knowing what the next day will bring. Our businesses are hurting. People are hurting. People are scared. And our resources are limited. And for the smallest of us, help is probably not on the way. So now we have to make those efforts. The ones that may not pay off like we hope or expect, but will, I believe, pay off.

We are going to try something big. A telethon, but virtual. All streaming. All live. For 24 continuous hours. We are going to raise money for the businesses and organizations that have been near and dear to us these past ten years. The Streamathon for Pets will raise money for small & independent pet businesses, services and rescues. We will try to raise as much as we can and distribute to as many as we can. We will do so by providing 24-hours of entertainment and contests and things viewers can do right from the quarantined confines of their living rooms. We have partnered with a fiscal sponsor who has set up the Streamathon for Pets Foundation, and all donations will be collected and audited by a nationally recognized non-profit. This also makes every donation tax-deductible, keeps everything transparent and will hopefully lead to more donations.

If you are a pet sitter, a dog trainer, a sole-proprietor trying to get through this, we are going to give it our best shot to try to help you do it. When this is all over, whatever the new normal is, your services and products will still be needed.

If you are in need of a grant, please fill out the form on the website at www.StreamathonforPets.com. If you can sponsor, perform, donate a product, entertain or assist in other ways, there is a form for you, too. Our team is putting out a tremendous effort, but would certainly welcome your participation.

Together, we can endure this. We can be left out when the funds run dry. We can be literally unable to do what we normally do for a living. So what CAN we do? We can innovate, adapt, try. We can make the effort. And maybe it will not turn out like we expect, but as you can see, one never knows what tomorrow may bring. What happened 20 years ago will always be a tragedy, and nothing we did or saw accomplished will ever bring that child back, or ease the pain his family felt and still feels. But that was all we could do. Today, all any of us can do is try. We hope you will join us in this effort, and we hope that when this is all over, we have lessons learned that we can share 20 years from now.

Please visit www.StreamathonForPets.com, and we will 'virtually' see you next Friday, May 1st at 4PM CST!

Yours,

William Rilenge and the Streamathon for Pets team.