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Secretary to the people

By JOHN BARRY
Published June 20, 2006

The high-heeled brunet at the flea market stood out. She wore an above-the-knee, pink A-line dress. She wore matching pink nail polish, her hair cut in a vintage pageboy. She looked familiar, an apparition from long ago. She looked like that girl. As in That Girl.

Here at Fun-Lan, the funky swap shop/drive-in on Hillsborough Avenue, was Marlo Thomas, circa 1966. Sitting primly at a blue Royal typewriter, she looked ready to take dictation. Which she was.

That girl beckoned all midmorning browsers. Come one, come all.

"Would you like to send a birthday greeting to the president?"

They gave her a suspicious look. She said the magic words.

"It's free."

Sheryl Oring, a New York City performance artist, is using a $10,000 arts grant from the Creative Capital Foundation to collect birthday greetings for George W. Bush. He turns 60 on July 6. Before he does, Oring will have traveled to seven U.S. cities and one national park in a cheap rental car with Jersey tags.

She shopped for weeks to create her retro look, choosing perkily put-together Marlo Thomas as her inspiration. She had her typing table specially made. She chose a pink polka dot curtain for a backdrop. She packed a different outfit for each stop. Her mother made her pink dress for Tampa.

Most people have assumed she's either friend or foe to the president. In Brooklyn, they thought she was a war protester. In Indianapolis, they thought she was an agent for the GOP. She insists she's just herself. On her Web site, she claims the role of "reporter, national therapist and secretary to the people."

Last week at Fun-Lan, folks sat down before her typewriter, one by one. They could say whatever they wanted. Oring stayed in That Girl character. She took dictation with a polite poker face, revealing nothing. No matter what anyone said.

Dear Mr. President.

Thanks for a job well done. Stay the course.

Frank Lapina, Tampa And: Dear Mr. President,

We didn't vote for you and we kind of wish we had a different president. But since you are the president, we want you to be happy on your birthday because nobody wants a sad president. Sad presidents might get grumpy and start more stupid wars.

Sidney mom, Sylvia (6) and Sheppard (3).

Tampa

- - -

Oring started the tour in Brooklyn on May 27. Her friend, photographer Dhanraj Emanuel, came along to help drive and take photos. On the twisting trail to Tampa, they stopped in Indianapolis and Raleigh. After Tampa they were headed on a 1,000-mile trek to Houston, then on to Des Moines, a zigzag to Albuquerque and a monster final leg to Yosemite. When they're done, the first letters of each of their eight stops will form the word "birthday."

She sought geographic diversity, red state-blue state balance. She chose Tampa over, say, Tucson, because of Florida's famously divided electorate and history of hanging chad.

Her official mission statement vowed to "address audiences that seldom interact with art and who are not typically given a chance to speak their minds." (Translation: We're going to flea markets, where no one has ever seen anything like us.)

Generally, Oring said, the greetings have tracked the political polls. Only about three in 10 have saluted the president for an excellent job. Most have expressed deep worries, either about the war or the economy. Obscenities have been rare. Almost all concerns have been respectfully cast. Except a greeting from Brooklyn:

Dear Mr. President, I hate your stinking guts.

"This has reinforced my idea that you don't know what someone is going to say until they sit down and talk to you," Oring said.

She places each greeting in a stamped envelope addressed to the White House and keeps a carbon for an exhibition she will take around the country later this year. Each greeter gets three balloons that say Happy Birthday, Mr. President!

- - -

At Fun-Lan, Oring randomly set up her typewriter between two produce stands. Unwittingly, she found herself surrounded by Hispanic immigrants marketing their vegetables.

A sunburned Mexican laborer walked by.

"Would you like to send a birthday greeting to the president?" Oring asked him.

"I don't have a president," he told her. "Look at me." He was dressed in weathered workman's clothes. "I have no president."

Finally, he sat down and dictated his greeting.

Dear Mr. President,

Help my Mexican people. Don't discriminate. They are not criminals. They are here because they want work.

Peruvian Amelia Gomez wandered over from her stacks of garlic, onions and tomatoes to give the president a raspberry. Oring had to pick up her typewriter and follow her back to her produce stand so Gomez's husband could translate her Spanish.

Dear Mr. President,

We are a small business, in which we try to make money retailing produce. Since the price of fuel has gone up, our business is off by 60 percent. Could you repair the damage that has been done and get things back to the way they were before?

Gomez's 12-year-old son, Bob, waited his turn. He said he didn't care about gas prices. He wanted to ask the president for a Christmas tree. He explained the strange logic of his birthday greeting: "You can say anything in your brain!"

- - -

An account of Oring's travels was carried on National Public Radio. She and Emanuel were offered free lodgings along the way. One sounded irresistible: an offer from an "artists' co-op" in Greensboro, N.C. They thought they might spend a few days there and take in the sights.

"It turned out to be a three-story thrift shop that had been closed for six years," Emanuel said. Not a single secondhand sofa or Victrola turntable had been removed.

The plumbing was kaput. "We had to use the bathroom at the Y." After a spooky, moldy overnight, they decided Greensboro would be a one-night stop.

Both are vegetarians. Their rented Ford Focus was laden with dried fruits. They stopped at only one Waffle House.

Emanuel asked Oring where they would stay in Yosemite. He worried about summer crowds.

"All we could get was a tent," she said.

Emanuel looked hard at her. "You owe me," he said.

Oring said she hasn't typed her own birthday greeting, but she will. She is waiting until the end of the trip, July 2.

What will she say to the president? The secretary to the people stuck to her typing. Her face was blank. Silent. Unreadable.

John Barry can be reached at (727) 892-2258 or jbarry@sptimes.com.

[Last modified June 20, 2006, 09:27:14]