THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 1, 1995 TAG: 9510010070
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: BY PAUL SOUTH, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: OCRACOKE LENGTH: Medium: 90 lines
The Island Inn dinner crowd is just settling in for a leisurely evening meal. A table of 14, here for a family reunion, eases into its first glasses of wine.
A few steps away, a couple from upstate New York is almost finished with their meal.
It's Russ Newell's kind of crowd.
The Roxboro native, whose kids run the place, gets up from a plate of pasta, and walks to a nearby bookcase, deftly removing a tiny pamphlet. He wanders over to the large table, where 14 family members sit.
``I'm a writer,'' he says. ``I want to read you one of my stories.''
The crowd graciously obliges, and before long, Newell is reading in a rich Carolina drawl about a twice-stolen Christmas tree. The table is mesmerized.
Before long, the couple from New York is enthralled, as are others at nearby tables. He finishes his story. They laugh and clap. And the author returns to his table flushed with another triumph.
``They liked me,'' he says, teeth forming a huge grin in the dimly lit room.
You won't find Russ Newell's name on the New York Times bestseller list, or even in the bargain bin of your favorite bookstore. By day Newell, venture capitalist and real estate broker, works from Ocracoke via fax and telephone with his partners in North Carolina's Research Triangle. But while some folks do needlepoint and others chase golf balls, Russ Newell's hobby is telling stories.
``When I was small, I remember sitting on the porch and listening to old family stories,'' Newell says. ``If you learned to laugh at the right time, you did better when the fried chicken got passed around.''
Though high-tech wizardry allows him a chance to do business year-round on this island that could be the travelogue for ``Laid Back,'' Newell worries that the faster the world becomes, the more we lose. He worries that soon there will be no porches to sit on, and the stories will be long-forgotten, tucked away in dark corner closets of memory.
``We think we're so modern and so forward-thinking,'' Newell says. ``But we've forgotten to take time to listen and talk to each other. Those old stories give kids a sense of place, a sense of belonging. Once you hear those stories, you know you belong to somebody someplace.''
Now the perfect romantic twist to Newell's story would be one of a man who punted away the rigors of the business world for the serenity of Ocracoke Island. But make no mistake about it, he still loves the gray flannel suit, and the art of the deal.
``I love it,'' he says with a grin. ``I love it! I've had a few successes, and I've had a few failures. I'm not some kind of a hero.''
In fact, one of Newell's successes is purchasing, with his partner, some of the last private land on the island, and converting a swamp into simple but elegant homesites. ``I did all right,'' he says.
Newell's philosophy, taught to him by one of the leading Anglican theologians of this century, may seem unique given the ``greed is good'' mentality of some American business tycoons.
``The Right Rev. Bishop Stephen Neill was bishop to India,'' Newell says. ``I came to know him in the last two years of his life. ``He taught me that if you believe in the Lord, you can do anything. And that you ought to celebrate your failures as well as your successes.
``Once you can do that, you're serving instead of being served. You can't fail when you're serving other people.''
Talk to this 60-year-old grandfather long enough, and you'll get more than lectures on family, and theology, and capitalism. You'll get a little philosophy, too.
``Anything great that's ever been accomplished has never been done by a government or a committee. It's been by one individual who had miles and miles of stick-to-itiveness.''
He says that's one of the things that keeps him on this island, along with star-stuffed skies, and crescent moons that look like Cheshire-cat grins.
``Everybody thinks people who live on Ocracoke are so laid-back,'' he says. ``That's not true. Folks here are like ducks. They look like they're cooling out on top. But they're paddling like hell underneath.''
So it is with Russ Newell, when he's not ``on the hunt'' in business, or reading his stories, he's tooling around the island in a blue pickup with his Chesapeake Bay retriever Baryshnikov in the back.
He greets everyone - friend or stranger - with a wave and a boisterous ``Yes suh!'' or ``Yes ma'am!'' He has found his place. But, the world, he says ``is looking for something else.''
``You know, in Lawson's `History of North Carolina,' he wrote that the kind of people the English wanted to settle this place was `A proper Christian gentleman who sits a horse well.' That's still who we're looking for.''
Until that day comes, Russ Newell will keep doing deals, telling tales, celebrating all the while. Cool up top, and paddling like hell down below. by CNB