Thursday’s show was called “Oprah’s Producers Uncensored, plus Most Memorable Audience Moments.” Chris, the Oprah producer who called me last week, had suggested they use my After the Show comment about my job modeling nude for art students. She called me again after that. And again. And again. She was fact-checking my bio. Confirming details about the books I’d written. Reserving the limo for me.

The limo showed up right on time last Thursday. Our driver was a percussionist from Romania. He had a dreamy voice, but after hearing him scold Harper about sitting on the leather seats, I knew he could be stern if he had to. You know, to protect the celebrities in the back seat.

We chatted all the way to Harpo Studios. Turns out our chauffeur had originally come to America on a music scholarship. I told him about my sister Bev, a percussionist in high school and college. “I grew up with a marimba in the living room,” I said. He was impressed.

Our chauffeur had played all through college, but he said that after graduating he found more gigs driving limos than performing with orchestras. So here he was, 13 years later, driving for the Oprah Show. He gushed about his six-year-old daughter, referring to her as “the love of my life.” Fathers always say their daughters are beautiful, he knew that. “But trust me, she really is. I’m going to have a lot of trouble when she is older,” he laughed. I laughed, too.

When we arrived at Harpo Studios, I fished in my bag for a copy of Safe & Sound to sign for her. “My daughter, she loves dogs,“ he said. I thought he was going to cry. “She is going to love this book.” He opened the car door for us, and Harper and I were escorted to the front of the line.

“Does your dog need a seat?” an audience service staff member asks. “Or does he sit on the floor?” Security officials confiscate the ink pen I’d used to sign the limo driver’s book. They don’t want anyone asking Oprah for autographs. I explain that the other pen in my bag holds insulin. They let me keep it. In the waiting room, a staff member presses a tissue into my palm. “Spit out your gum,” she orders. I do. Before allowing everyone else into the studio, they call a few names for “Pre-boarding.” My name is first. “Beth Fink?” they say. We’re led to aisle seats.

Chris the producer pats me on the shoulder and introduces herself. “May I pet Harper?” she asks. I hesitate. Seeing Eye rules. No petting allowed while your dog is in harness. This is a special occasion, though. I say yes. “Just don’t let anyone else see you doing it,” I warn her with a laugh. “They’ll all want a turn!”

No need to worry. No one is watching Harper. All eyes are glued to the stage. They’re waiting for Oprah to arrive, but a member of the audience department takes the stage instead. “How you all doing today?” she asks. We clap politely. “That doesn’t sound so good!” she says, repeating her question with more volume this time. Audience members react in kind. We clap harder. One woman yells “Woohoo!” Another shouts out, “I love Oprah!” The woman from the audience department is pleased. She rewards us by opening up for questions. The audience responds, confessing Oprah love.

A woman confides the one thing she’s always wanted to do in life is meet Oprah. “And here I am,” she says. “so now I have no regrets.” The audience cheers. Every story after this echoes that same sentiment: Each woman has no regrets now that they are here watching the Oprah Winfrey Show. One woman in the audience finally asks a question. “How many producers work on the show?” The answer is 90.

That is not a typo. I mean 90. The Oprah Show has 90 producers. Nine, then zero. That meant Chris and 89 other producers had each championed a segment for today’s show. We’d been told earlier that the show is 47 minutes long without commercials. Math has never been my forte, but I was pretty sure that 47 divided by 90 was not a good quotient.

The audience interrupts my thoughts. It roars. Screams. Squeals. The volume grows. Louder. And louder. Oprah is on stage. The show begins. A big screen shows the producers favorite clips from shows over the past 25 years. An audience member who’d been fooled into thinking she was getting a makeover, only to be done up in Goth–style instead, comes up on stage to receive an award. A gay man who’d been in the audience during a show on bullying is on the big screen, live from Newport News, Virginia. He tells us that after telling his story on Oprah of beating a fourth-grade bully with his pink Cinderella lunch box, the attacker approached him at a school reunion and apologized. Two guys who’d confessed their love for Mariah Carey during her appearance on the Oprah Show had ended up on stage with Mariah during her next concert. They were in the audience Thursday and came up on stage to read thank you notes to Oprah out loud. The big screen showed clips of Roseanne Barr on Oprah; Oprah on the “Win, Lose, or Draw” game show; Oprah and her best friend Gail enjoying fried corn dogs at the Texas State Fair; Christopher Plummer and the entire cast of Sound Of Music reunited on stage during an Oprah show. Time ticked by. It became painfully obvious. With 90 producers vying for 47 slots, there wasn’t going to be time left for Chris’ favorite.

So I wasn’t on the show.

Before Harper and I left Harpo Studios I was told my After the Show clip from 2001 would be used as a tie-in to Monday’s show, that fans could link to my clip about my job modeling nude for art students on oprah.com. It’s not up yet.

Show over, A staff member escorted us to an alley So Harper could pee. He really needed the break! Our Romanian chauffeur was waiting for us, and this time I did it the Seeing Eye way. I got myself situated, called Harper to jump in and join me. He sat on the floor. “Good boy, Harper!” The limo started towards home, and I asked our chauffeur if he would get to go home and see his daughter after this. “Oh, no,” he said. “This is a very busy day.” Oprah had already taped a show before Harper and I arrived at noon. Fans had been streaming out of Harpo studios when our limo pulled up. They told us Michael Douglas had been the morning guest.

I’m not a gambler, but I betcha that after dropping Harper and me off at harpo Studios at noon, our chauffeur was scheduled to take Michael Douglas to the airport. I’m confident that along the way my new Romanian friend showed Michael this beautiful children’s book he’d just been given. My guess is that as I sit here, ready to hit the “publish” button on this blog post, Michael Douglas is at his local independent bookstore in sunny California, ordering copies of Safe & Sound for his two little kids.

A producer from the Oprah Winfrey Show contacted me last week. She wanted to let me know they might use a clip of my 2001 “After the Show” appearance in an upcoming segment.

The show is tentatively titled “More Oprah Producers Most Unforgettable Moments,” and is slated to air Monday, April 25, 2011. “We’re taping the show on Thursday afternoon,” the producer said. “We’ll send a car.”

The clip the producer was referring to is from 2001, when my friend Mim was asked to be on the Oprah Winfrey show. I met Mim when we were both still in college — we were on the same study abroad program in Austria.

Now Mim is Dr. Miriam E. Nelson, author of the Strong Women series of books about the benefits of strength training. Ten years ago Oprah producers asked Mim if she’d come for a show Oprah was doing on the art of aging gracefully.

Mim had never seen an Oprah Show before. Honest. Remember, Mim’s a scientist. A researcher. An academic. She’s usually working when the Oprah Winfrey Show airs. So she asked if I’d come to Harpo Studios to lend some support.

My sister Cheryl came along, too, and when we checked into our room at the Omni (“guests of the Oprah Winfrey Show stay at the Omni Hotel….”) there was a message waiting for us. It was Mim, explaining that she’d just finished watching tapes of old Oprah Shows in her hotel room. “It’s amazing!” she exclaimed. “She’s like a goddess to these women!”

Mim ended up calling Cheryl and me four or five more times that night. Now that she understood how the show worked, she wanted to plant me with things to say from the audience. I didn’t mind being an Oprah patsy. Mim knows me well. I’m a ham. Her new book back then emphasized the emotional benefits of strength training. “If you could get called on and say something about that, it’d be GREAT!”

I never got a chance. Not during the regular show, at least. Oprah’s people screen audience members far in advance. The chosen ones know who they are long before they arrive at Harpo Studios, and they are escorted to special seats in the front rows. Cheryl and I sat in the back. Turned out Mim didn’t need me anyway. After she was introduced, Dr. Miriam E. Nelson gently patted Oprah’s shoulder and said, “You have beautiful arms!” She had Oprah eating out of her hand. The new book sold a ton.

Mim’s Oprah debut included one of those After the Show segments. From Oprah’s Web site:

After select tapings of The Oprah Winfrey Show, Oprah continues the topic with guests and the studio audience in a casual after show.

I was able to give my emotional strength training comment then. You know, After the Show. A year later, when Oprah was on vacation or something, the producers put together an hour-long Best of After the Show segment to air during her regular time slot. My bit after Mim’s show was featured.

Oprah introduces my bit by saying that sometimes her audience members tell the naked truth. The camera goes to me, I tell the audience I lost my sight in 1986. “As far as I’m concerned, I still look the same way I did when I was 26!” I give a suggestion to audience members who have spent the hour fretting over wrinkles and age spots. “Quit looking in the mirror!”The audience laughs. Mim and Oprah do, too. And then I get serious. I tell them I lost my job when I lost my sight, and confess I lost a lot of self-esteem then, too. I tell them a friend read Dr. Nelson’s book out loud to me, that got me started lifting weights (it’s true) and that strength training had given me courage to go out and look for a job again. Then I ask the big question. “Know what I do?” The audience waits at the edge of their seats. “We live in a university town, and I model nude for art students.” The audience howls. Mim is pictured, leaning over, hands just above her knees, laughing. Oprah is incredulous. “Is that really true?” she asks. “Is that a true story?”

It is. I don’t model anymore, though. I quit when my first book, Long Time, No See,was published. We moved to Chicago then, and my writing career took off.

I’m not exactly sure what they’ll do with me during the show tomorrow. I’m not even sure they’ll show my clip during the show. I do know they want Harper and me to be there, though. Just got my reservation from Windy City Limos. Oprah’s sending a car.

PS: Can’t resist, gotta share a paragraph or two from the reservation Windy City Limos emailed to me:

Take to Harpo Studios 1058 W Washington, Chicago for Drop Off
Chauffeur to check in with security. Guests to wait in vehicle. Ch auffeur to escort guests into the studio. Chauffeur to help assis t bringing any luggage into studio (if
applicable).
Chauffeur is ABSOLUTELY NOT to be on his cell phone or text withh te passenger(s) in the vehicle, if the vehicle is out of PARK!!!
Show topics should never be discussed with guests.
Chauffeurs should never discuss who they have transported.
Instructions: Passenger is blind – will have guide dog.

This Wednesday, April 20, my wise, unpretentious, courageous, empathetic, stubborn, hardworking, appreciative and absolutely gorgeous mother will be 95 years old.

Flo contemplates her 95th birthday dessert on the 95th floor of the John Hancock Building in Chicago.

Although Flo herself would never say this, her life has not been easy. Our father, Ed Finke, died when he was 47 years old. My oldest sister Bobbie is 20 years older than I am, and she was already married by then. The six of us younger ones were still at home. Flo found a job at a nearby bakery that allowed her to bring us little girls along to work on days she couldn’t find a babysitter. Once all of us were enrolled in elementary school, Flo studied, got her GED, and found a job as an office clerk. She worked there 20 years, burned the mortgage on the house, and retired at age 70.

Our father’s early death taught us a lot of things. One of them? Never take birthdays for granted. We’ll be celebrating Flo’s 95th all week long, and we kicked it all off last Saturday morning. My sister Cheryl drove Flo to downtown Chicago, Marilee flew in from Florida, Bev took a train from Michigan, and we all met for brunch at, where else? The 95th Floor of the John Hancock Center. My sisters wisely placed me with my back to the windows. Flo got the spot with a panoramic view of the Chicago skyline, but if you ask me I had the best seat in the house: directly across from the birthday girl.

Flo had never been to the John Hancock Center before. She was absolutely tickled. Our nephew Brian Miller flew back from South Korea that afternoon. His cousin Ben picked him up at O’Hare so he could join Marilee and Bev for a sleepover at their Grandma’s. Marilee had to fly back to Florida Sunday, Bev and Brian will be here until Tuesday, and on Wednesday Harper is guiding me to the train station to take a ride out to Elmhurst. I’ll meet Cheryl and Flo at a wine shop for a toast to the birthday girl. Harper’s work ethic has been improving since I published that last post, and if my sense of joy and exuberance on Flo’s birthday Wednesday wears off on Harper, I know he’ll get us all the way to the train station without balking once. We’ll all toast to that, too!.

Thats Beverle, Cheryl, Flo, Marilee and Moi.

During the car ride home from the Hancock Center Saturday, Flo thanked us over and over again for her big day out. “This sure was a special birthday celebration,” she said, and after pondering that for a moment, she added one last thought. “All of my birthdays have been special.” We agreed. Happy birthday, dear Flo. And many, many more.

Hanni met Harper recently and offered some advice.

Four months ago (has it been that long already?) Harper and I returned from Morristown to piles of snow here in Chicago. Poor Harper had never trained in snow, but he was a troopertrouper. He made the adjustment.

Is that why he’s cowering on our walks to the Loop now? Does he miss the snow? Or maybe it’s a delayed reaction to the van that turned right in front of us. The driver didn’t see us crossing, she said. Her van brushed Harper’s face, and he pulled me back from harm so strongly that I fell. My head crashed on the concrete. Maybe that near miss still has him scared. We’ve been traveling a lot lately. Is that confusing him? Can I blame the little snippy dog who nipped the tip of Harper’s ear off in the elevator? Post traumatic stress syndrome?

Harper’s cowering started the day after we returned from the Door County blizzard in Wisconsin. I had a meeting at Willis Tower with my co-workers at Easter Seals Headquarters that morning. Halfway there, along a normal length of sidewalk, Harper crouched to the ground. Wouldn’t budge. Not forward, not backward. After trying everything I could come up with to get Harper to move, I finally accepted help from a stranger. The man walked Harper and me to Franklin Avenue, and when Harper caught sight of the Willis Tower he took off like old times.

On the way home, though, he cowered again. Four different times. Now he cowers on the way to and from the memoir-writing class I teach, on the way to and from the pool I swim at, on the way to and from the train station to visit Flo. We eventually get to all these places, but it’s like driving a car that stalls all the time. It’s miserable. Both for Harper, and for me.

”It really doesn’t matter why he’s acting this way,” the instructor from the Seeing Eye said when I called the training department for help. “he just can’t act like this.” I’ve been back and forth with the Seeing Eye almost every day. They’ve been wonderful, listening to my concerns, giving me ideas to try, suggesting different ways for me to hold the harness and leash to remind Harper I’m back there and I mean business. “And be sure to overdo the praise when he does good,” they said. “Go really over the top.”

On our walk home from teaching the memoir class today, I had no opportunities to praise Harper at all. He didn’t do anything well. Not one thing. I usually put music on and Harper and I dance around with his toys once we make it home safely, but there was no joy in Mudville today. “I don’t want to talk to you,” I told him. I unbuckled his harness, gave him some water and slouched into my office chair to phone the Seeing Eye. Again.

”An instructor is coming out your way at the end of the month,” the trainer on the phone said, asking which days would work best for them to visit Harper and me that week. Before hanging up I told her I’d planned on going to the pool this evening, but now I wasn’t so sure. She urged me to stick with that plan, arming me with another technique to try to encourage Harper.

*******

Hours later.

*******

Just got home from the pool. Never got a chance to use that new technique. Harper didn’t need it. He was perfect. He never balked. Never cowered. He stopped on a dime at every curb. And when I gave the “forward” command? By God, he pulled me forward!

Hmmm. I know Seeing Eye dogs are smart. Think Harper can read my blog posts?

Nancy graciously took time out on her last day to talk with me (and Hanni, of course).

I was out of town for yesterday’s home opener at White Sox park, so I listened to the game on the radio. The fans were loud, the Sox scored right away, Edwin Jackson struck out 13 batters and we won. All great stuff, but I couldn’t help but notice. Something was missing. For the first time in 42 years, legendary White Sox organist Nancy Faust was not playing on opening day. Loyal blog readers might remember the piece I wrote for the Chicago Tribune about Nancy Faust when she retired last year:

During one game, I had my Seeing Eye dog Hanni lead me to Nancy’s booth so I could thank her for helping me track

what was happening on the field. Nancy was absolutely lovely in person, and Hanni and I waltzed back to our seats to a pipe organ chorus of “How Much is that Doggie in the Window?”

A reporter interviewed Nancy for an article in yesterday’s Daily Herald about what she’d be doing on her first day off work. Probably watching the game on TV, she said. The story credited Nancy for reinventing the role of a ballpark organist by incorporating rock and pop songs into her repertoire, and gave a shout out to Rollie Hudson (another organist I’ve blogged about here). It also listed some of the clever songs she’d come up with over the years:

• A Whiter Shade of Pale for Henry Blanco
• In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida for player Pete Incaviglia
• I Could Have Danced All Night for Chone Figgins

Don’t get that last one? It’s a reference to Professor Higgins in My Fair Lady, of course. Rhymes with Figgins! My favorite literary reference from the Daily Herald article was this one:

Acquiescing to tastes beyond the literary library of most baseball fans, Faust once followed a fan’s suggestion to welcome Detroit Tiger Brandon Inge with The Hollies’ song “Bus Stop” in reference to the classic work “Bus Stop” by playwright William Inge. The next day, two fans excitedly rushed up to Faust to tell her that connection was brilliant.

“I guess I made three people happy,” Faust says. “The fan who suggested it and those two.”

Make that four happy people, Nancy. You may be retired, but these stories about you continue to make me smile.