NAILING A STORY

Miami Herald, The (FL)
August 6, 1995
Author: Herald Staff

If you've got a story you think 500,000 people would be interested in, drop us a line.

We owe today's cover story to the fervent human desire for red nail polish. Let me explain:

Just before her wedding, Dawn Goldman decided to get her nails done.

She went to Super Shears, a Miami beauty shop, and ran into three other women who were there for the same thing. With time--not to mention bright red nail polish--on their hands, they began to talk. Soon they knew everything there was to know about each other. Well, almost everything.

They liked each other so much that they did it again. And again. And again. They did it every Saturday at noon for eight years. The Breakfast Club, Dawn called it.

One Saturday, when Dawn was in a hospital recuperating from having a baby, one member of the group revealed that she had given birth as an unwed teenager and given the baby up for adoption. Now, 35 years later, she had met her long-lost daughter, thanks to her mother bumping into her entirely by accident in a veterinarian's office in North Carolina.

When Dawn heard that, she says, "I practically jumped out of a hospital bed to be at the beauty parlor the next week."

In the weeks to come, The Breakfast Club was riveted by the long-running soap opera surrounding Dottie West and her rediscovered daughter (Meant For Each Other, page 6).

You'll have to read the story for the details. But suffice it to say that Dawn was convinced that most people would be as fascinated by this story as she was. She thought the women should write a book. Then she remembered something else. Not long after she had moved to Miami, Dawn was looking through Tropic. She turned a page and was amazed to find a photograph of Gail Harrell, her best friend in Memphis, Tenn., where she used to live.

Years before, Dawn had knocked on Gail's door seeking to rent the other half of her duplex. When the door opened, both women realized that they worked in the same building and passed each other in the halls all the time.

Dawn and her young son rented the duplex and became fast friends with Gail and her family. The kids played together. They often ate together. They baby-sat for each other. They kept the door connecting the two apartments open.

When Dawn saw the photo, she recalled that Gail had told her that her brother -- that's me -- worked for The Miami Herald. I had written the story -- about revisiting my small Southern town -- that had accompanied the photo. So she called me up.

A few weeks ago, when Dawn realized what a good story she had stumbled into, she called again.

She knew it would be a great magazine story, she said. People are fascinated by tales of bizarre coincidence. Plus, it was a very passionate, very human story that people could identify with. It delved into creation's most intriguing relationship, the very special bond between mothers and daughters.

But Dawn found it fascinating for yet another reason. "I believe everyone in the world is separated from everyone else by only a few people," said Dawn. In other words, most of the people you meet are connected to someone you know, or are connected to someone who knows someone you know.

For example, she said, "I would never have called Tropic if I had not had a connection with Gail and therefore a connection with you."

And, obviously, Dottie might have never found her daughter if her mother hadn't known a veterinarian who knew the daughter.

And if Dawn and Dottie hadn't gotten their nails done at the same place, we wouldn't have a cover story.

And . . . well, you see where this is going.

I'm not sure just how connected we all are to each other, but I know there are countless Dawns out there. Over the years, tips phoned into our office by various others have led to cover stories about the North Miami Beach woman who makes boats for the wealthiest people in the world, a local race car driver who crashed at the Indianapolis 500, the out-of-control rumor about Dade authorities hiding hundreds of corpses after Hurricane Andrew and one South Floridian's intriguing correspondence with a friend in the Soviet Union as the country fell apart.

Come to think of it, maybe you're a Dawn. If you've got a story you think 500,000 people would be interested in, drop us a line.

Tropic
1 Herald Plaza
Miami, Fla. 33132

But please, keep it brief. We have to get our nails done.

Section: TROPIC
Copyright (c) 1995 The Miami Herald