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Read the critically acclaimed #1 New York Times best-seller with more than one million copies in print. Same Kind of Different as Me was a major motion picture release by Paramount in fall 2017.
Gritty with pain and betrayal and brutality, this true story also shines with an unexpected, life-changing love.
Meet Denver, raised under plantation-style slavery in Louisiana until he escaped the “Man” – in the 1960’s – by hopping a train. Non-trusting, uneducated, and violent, he spent another 18 years on the streets of Dallas and Fort Worth.
Meet Ron Hall, a self-made millionaire in the world of high priced art deals -- concerned with fast cars, beautiful women, and fancy clothes.
And the woman who changed their lives -- Miss Debbie: “The skinniest, nosiest, pushiest, woman I ever met, black or white.” She helped the homeless and gave of herself to all of “God’s People,” and had a way of knowing how to listen and helping others talk and be found – until cancer strikes.
Same Kind of Different as Me is a tale told in two unique voices – Ron Hall & Denver Moore – weaving two completely different life experiences into one common journey where both men learn “whether we is rich or poor or something in between this earth ain’t no final restin’ place. So in a way, we is all homeless-just workin’ our way toward home.”
The story takes a devastating twist when Deborah discovers she has cancer. Will Deborah live or die? Will Denver learn to trust a white man? Will Ron embrace his dying wife's vision to rescue Denver? Or will Denver be the one rescuing Ron? There's pain and laughter, doubt and tears, and in the end a triumphal story that readers will never forget.
Continue this story of friendship in What Difference Do It Make?: Stories of Hope and Healing, available now. Same Kind of Different as Me also is available in Spanish.
Bonus material in this special movie edition includes:
- a new epilogue with updates on the authors since the release of the original book;
- the amazing story behind the movie, how it got made, and the incredible experiences while filming in Jackson, MS;
- 16 page color photo insert from the movie set.
About the Author
Ron Hall has dedicated much of the last ten years of his life to speaking on behalf of, and raising money for, the homeless. Formerly an international art dealer, Ron is a #1 New York Times bestselling author and writer/producer of the Paramount/Pure Flix film Same Kind of Different as Me. A Texas Christian University graduate, Ron was honored in 2017 with the Distinguished Alumni Award. In addition to traveling and speaking, Ron and his wife, Beth, run the Same Kind of Different as Me foundation (SKODAM.org), which meets emergency needs for those who are less fortunate.
Denver Moore served as a volunteer at the Fort Worth Union Gospel Mission until his death in March 2012.
Lynn Vincent is the New York Times best-selling writer ofHeaven Is for Real and Same Kind of Different As Me. The author or coauthor of ten books, Lynn has sold 12 million copies since 2006. She worked for eleven years as a writer and editor at the national news biweekly WORLD magazine and is a U.S. Navy veteran.
Read an Excerpt
Same Kind Of Different As Me
By Ron Hall, Denver Moore, Lynn Vincent
Thomas NelsonCopyright © 2016 Ron Hall
All rights reserved.
Well — a poor Lazarus poor as I When he died he had a home on high ... The rich man died and lived so well When he died he had a home in hell ... You better get a home in that Rock, don't you see?
— Negro spiritual
Until Miss Debbie, I'd never spoke to no white woman before. Just answered a few questions, maybe — it wadn't really speakin. And to me, even that was mighty risky since the last time I was fool enough to open my mouth to a white woman, I wound up half-dead and nearly blind.
I was maybe fifteen, sixteen years old, walkin down the red dirt road that passed by the front of the cotton plantation where I lived in Red River Parish, Louisiana. The plantation was big and flat, like a whole lotta farms put together with a bayou snakin all through it. Cypress trees squatted like spiders in the water, which was the color of pale green apples. There was a lotta different fields on that spread, maybe a hundred, two hundred acres each, lined off with hardwood trees, mostly pecans.
Wadn't too many trees right by the road, though, so when I was walkin that day on my way back from my auntie's house — she was my grandma's sister on my daddy's side — I was right out in the open. Purty soon, I seen this white lady standin by her car, a blue Ford, 'bout a 1950, '51 model, somethin like that. She was standin there in her hat and her skirt, like maybe she'd been to town. Looked to me like she was tryin to figure out how to fix a flat tire. So I stopped.
"You need some help, ma'am?"
"Yes, thank you," she said, lookin purty grateful to tell you the truth. "I really do."
I asked her did she have a jack, she said she did, and that was all we said.
Well, 'bout the time I got the tire fixed, here come three white boys ridin outta the woods on bay horses. They'd been huntin, I think, and they come trottin up and didn't see me 'cause they was in the road and I was ducked down fixin the tire on the other side of the car. Red dust from the horses' tracks floated up over me. First, I got still, thinkin I'd wait for em to go on by. Then I decided I didn't want em to think I was hidin, so I started to stand up. Right then, one of em asked the white lady did she need any help.
"I reckon not!" a redheaded fella with big teeth said when he spotted me. "She's got a nigger helpin her!"
Another one, dark-haired and kinda weasel-lookin, put one hand on his saddle horn and pushed back his hat with the other. "Boy, what you doin botherin this nice lady?"
He wadn't nothin but a boy hisself, maybe eighteen, nineteen years old. I didn't say nothin, just looked at him.
"What you lookin at, boy?" he said and spat in the dirt.
The other two just laughed. The white lady didn't say nothin, just looked down at her shoes. 'Cept for the horses chufflin, things got quiet. Like the yella spell before a cyclone. Then the boy closest to me slung a grass rope around my neck, like he was ropin a calf. He jerked it tight, cuttin my breath. The noose poked into my neck like burrs, and fear crawled up through my legs into my belly.
I caught a look at all three of them boys, and I remember thinkin none of em was much older'n me. But their eyes was flat and mean.
"We gon' teach you a lesson about botherin white ladies," said the one holdin the rope. That was the last thing them boys said to me.
I don't like to talk much 'bout what happened next, 'cause I ain't lookin for no pity party. That's just how things was in Louisiana in those days. Mississippi, too, I reckon, since a coupla years later, folks started tellin the story about a young colored fella named Emmett Till who got beat till you couldn't tell who he was no more. He'd whistled at a white woman, and some other good ole boys — seemed like them woods was full of em — didn't like that one iota. They beat that boy till one a' his eyeballs fell out, then tied a cotton-gin fan around his neck and throwed him off a bridge into the Tallahatchie River. Folks says if you was to walk across that bridge today, you could still hear that drowned young man cryin out from the water.
There was lots of Emmett Tills, only most of em didn't make the news. Folks says the bayou in Red River Parish is full to its pea-green brim with the splintery bones of colored folks that white men done fed to the gators for covetin their women, or maybe just lookin cross-eyed. Wadn't like it happened ever day. But the chance of it, the threat of it, hung over the cotton fields like a ghost.
I worked them fields for nearly thirty years, like a slave, even though slavery had supposably ended when my grandma was just a girl. I had a shack I didn't own, two pairs a' overalls I got on credit, a hog, and a out-house. I worked them fields, plantin and plowin and pickin and givin all the cotton to the Man that owned the land, all without no paycheck. I didn't even know what a paycheck was.
It might be hard for you to imagine, but I worked like that while the seasons rolled by from the time I was a little bitty boy, all the way past the time that president named Kennedy got shot dead in Dallas.
All them years, there was a freight train that used to roll through Red River Parish on some tracks right out there by Highway 1. Ever day, I'd hear it whistle and moan, and I used to imagine it callin out about the places it could take me ... like New York City or Detroit, where I heard a colored man could get paid, or California, where I heard nearly everbody that breathed was stackin up paper money like flapjacks. One day, I just got tired a' bein poor. So I walked out to Highway 1, waited for that train to slow down some, and jumped on it. I didn't get off till the doors opened up again, which happened to be in Fort Worth, Texas. Now when a black man who can't read, can't write, can't figger, and don't know how to work nothin but cotton comes to the big city, he don't have too many of what white folks call "career opportunities." That's how come I wound up sleepin on the streets.
I ain't gon' sugarcoat it: The streets'll turn a man nasty. And I had been nasty, homeless, in scrapes with the law, in Angola prison, and homeless again for a lotta years by the time I met Miss Debbie. I want to tell you this about her: She was the skinniest, nosiest, pushiest woman I had ever met, black or white.
She was so pushy, I couldn't keep her from finding out my name was Denver. She investigated till she found it out on her own. For a long time, I tried to stay completely outta her way. But after a while, Miss Debbie got me to talkin 'bout things I don't like to talk about and tellin things I ain't never told nobody — even about them three boys with the rope. Some of them's the things I'm fixin to tell you.CHAPTER 2
Life produces some inglorious moments that live forever in your mind. One from 1952 remains seared on my brain like the brand on a longhorn steer. In those days, all schoolchildren had to bring urine samples to school, which public health workers would then screen for dread diseases. As a second grader at Riverside Elementary in Fort Worth, Texas, I carefully carried my pee to school in a Dixie cup like all the other good boys and girls. But instead of taking it to the school nurse, I mistakenly took it directly to Miss Poe, the meanest and ugliest teacher I ever had.
My error sent her into a hissy fit so well-developed you'd have thought I'd poured my sample directly into the coffee cup on her desk. To punish me, she frog-marched me and the whole second-grade class out to the play-ground like a drill sergeant, and clapped us to attention.
"Class, I have an announcement," she rasped, her smoke-infected voice screeching like bad brakes on an 18-wheeler. "Ronnie Hall will not be participating in recess today. Because he was stupid enough to bring his Dixie cup to the classroom instead of the nurse's office, he will spend the next thirty minutes with his nose in a circle."
Miss Poe then produced a fresh stick of chalk and scrawled on the redbrick schoolhouse wall a circle approximately three inches above the spot where my nose would touch if I stood on flat feet. Humiliated, I slunk forward, hiked up on tiptoes, and stuck my nose on the wall. After five minutes, my eyes crossed and I had to close them, remembering that my mama had warned me never to look cross-eyed or they could get locked up that way. After fifteen minutes, my toes and calves cramped fiercely, and after twenty minutes, my tears washed the bottom half of Miss Poe's circle right off the wall.
With the strain of loathing peculiar to a child shamed, I hated Miss Poe for that. And as I grew older, I wished I could send her a message that I wasn't stupid. I hadn't thought of her in years, though, until a gorgeous day in June 1978 when I cruised down North Main Street in Fort Worth in my Mercedes convertible, and security waved me through the gate onto the private tarmac at Meacham Airfield like a rock star.
It would have been perfect if I could have had Miss Poe, a couple of old girlfriends — Lana and Rita Gail, maybe — and, what the heck, my whole 1963 Haltom High graduating class, lined up parade-style so they could all see how I'd risen above my lower-middle-class upbringing. Looking back, I'm surprised I made it to the airfield that day, since I'd spent the whole ten-mile trip from home admiring myself in the rearview mirror.
I guided the car to the spot where a pilot stood waiting before a private Falcon jet. Dressed in black slacks, a starched white shirt, and spit-shined cowboy boots, he raised his hand in greeting, squinting against the Texas heat already boiling up from the tarmac.
"Good morning, Mr. Hall," he called over the turbines' hum. "Need some help with those paintings?"
Carefully, and one at time, we moved three Georgia O'Keeffe paintings from the Mercedes to the Falcon. Together, the paintings were valued at just shy of $1 million. Two years earlier, I had sold the same collection — two of O'Keeffe's iconic flower paintings and one of a skull — to a wildly wealthy south Texas woman for half a million dollars. When she tore a personal check for the full amount from her Hermès leather checkbook, I asked her jokingly if she was sure her check was good.
"I hope so, hon," she said, smiling through her syrupy-sweet Texas drawl. "I own the bank."
Now, that client was divesting herself of both a gold-digging husband and the O'Keeffes. The new buyer, an elegant, fiftyish woman who owned one of the finest apartments on Madison Avenue and probably wore pearls while bathing, was also divorcing. She was hosting a luncheon for me and a couple of her artsy, socialite friends that afternoon to celebrate her new acquisitions. No doubt an adherent to the philosophy that living well is the best revenge, she had used part of her king's-ransom divorce settlement to purchase the O'Keeffes at nearly double their former value. She was far too rich to negotiate the $1 million price tag. That suited me just fine, since it made my commission on the deal an even $100,000.
My client had sent the Falcon down from New York to retrieve me. Inside, I stretched out in a buttercream leather seat and perused the day's headlines. The pilot arrowed down the runway, took off to the south, then banked gently north. On the climb-out, I gazed down at Fort Worth, a city about to be transformed by local billionaires. It was much more than a face-lift: Giant holes in the ground announced the imminent construction of great gleaming towers of glass and steel. Galleries, cafés, museums, and upscale hotels would soon rise to join banks and legal offices, turning downtown Fort Worth from a sleepy cow-town into an urban epicenter with a pulse.
So ambitious was the project that it was systematically displacing the city's homeless population, which was actually a stated goal, a way to make our city a nicer place to live. Looking down from three thousand feet, I was secretly glad they were pushing the bums to the other side of the tracks, as I despised being panhandled every day on my way to work out at the Fort Worth Club.
My wife, Debbie, didn't know I felt quite that strongly about it. I played my nouveau elitism pretty close to the vest. After all, it had been only nine years since I'd been making $450 a month selling Campbell's soup for a living, and only seven since I'd bought and sold my first painting, secretly using — stealing? — Debbie's fifty shares of Ford Motor Company stock, a gift from her parents when she graduated from Texas Christian University.
Ancient history as far as I was concerned. I had shot like a rocket from canned soup to investment banking to the apex of the art world. The plain truth was, God had blessed me with two good eyes: one for art and the other for a bargain. But you couldn't have told me that at the time. To my way of thinking, I'd bootstrapped my way from lower-middle-class country boy into the rarified atmosphere that oxygenates the lifestyles of the Forbes 400.
Debbie had threatened to divorce me for using the Ford stock — "The only thing I owned outright, myself." she fumed — but I nudged her toward a cautious forgiveness with shameless bribes: a gold Piaget watch and a mink jacket from Koslow's.
At first, I dabbled in art sales while keeping my investment-banking day job. But in 1975, I cleared $10,000 on a Charles Russell painting I sold to a man in Beverly Hills who wore gold-tipped white-python cowboy boots and a diamond-studded belt buckle the size of a dinner plate. After that, I quit banking and ventured out to walk the art-world tightwire without a net.
It paid off. In 1977, I sold my first Renoir, then spent a month in Europe, spreading my name and news of my keen eye among the Old World art elite. It didn't take long for the zeros to begin piling up in the bank accounts of Ron and Debbie Hall. We didn't enjoy the same income level as my clients, whose average net worth notched in somewhere between $50 and $200 million. But they invited us into their stratosphere: yachting in the Caribbean, wing shooting in the Yucatán, hobnobbing at island resorts and old-money mansions.
I lapped it up, adopting as standard uniforms a closetful of Armani suits. Debbie was less enamored with the baubles of wealth. In 1981 I called her from the showroom floor of a Scottsdale, Arizona, Rolls-Royce dealer who had taken a shine to an important western painting I owned.
"You're not going to believe what I just traded for." I said the instant she picked up the phone at our home in Fort Worth. I was sitting in the "what," a $160,000 fire-engine-red Corniche convertible with white leather interior piped in red to match. I jabbered a description into my satellite phone.
Debbie listened carefully, then delivered her verdict: "Don't you dare bring that thing home. Don't even drive it out of the showroom. I'd be embarrassed to be seen in a car like that, or even have it in our driveway."
Had she really just called a top-of-the-line Rolls that thing? "I think it would be fun," I volunteered.
"Yes?" I said, suddenly hopeful at her sweet tone.
"Does that Rolls have a rearview mirror?"
"Look in it," she said. "Do you see a rock star?"
"Uh, no ..."
"Just remember, you sell pictures for a living. Now get out of the Rolls, get your Haltom City butt on a plane, and come home."
The same year Debbie snubbed the Rolls, I opened a new gallery on Main Street in Fort Worth's blossoming cultural district, an area called Sundance Square, and hired a woman named Patty to manage it. Though we displayed impressionist and modern master paintings — Monet, Picasso, and their peers — worth several hundred thousand dollars, we were careful about posting prices or keeping too much inventory on-site, as a good number of derelicts had not yet been convinced to move to their new accommodations under the freeways to the southeast. Greasy and smelly, several came in each day to cool down, warm up, or case the place. Most of them were black, and I felt sure they all were also alcoholics and addicts, though I had never taken the time to hear their stories — I didn't really care.
One day, a drug-dazed black man, filthy in thread-worn army fatigues, shambled into the gallery. "How much you want for that picture?" he slurred, jabbing his finger at a $250,000 Mary Cassatt.
Fearing he might rob me, I tried to humor him while evading the truth. "How much you got in your pocket?"
"Fifty dollahs," he said.
"Then give it to me, and you can walk out the door with that picture."
"No, suh! I ain't givin you fifty dollahs for that picture!"
"Well, this isn't a museum and I didn't charge admission, so if you're not buying, how am I supposed to pay the rent?" I then invited him to leave.
Excerpted from Same Kind Of Different As Me by Ron Hall, Denver Moore, Lynn Vincent. Copyright © 2016 Ron Hall. Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
A MUST READ!! TRULY LIFE-CHANGING! This excellent, witty, honest, unpretentious, poignant true story will bless all who read it. It will encourage, inspire and move you beyond sitting in church for years. A wealthy international art dealer, Ron, reluctantly volunteers, at the insistence of his wife, Debbie, at a homeless shelter, where he meets Denver Moore, a homeless man. Thus the story begins and will stir you beyond words. There is such strength of the human spirit, super sense of humor and great heart. There's love, respect, admiration, and human dignity. Some terms they used, "Guilt pierced me like a spike", and "Nearly drowned in the wave of regret."...were priceless! I love this book because of the way it makes me feel! Buy tons of this book to give as gifts.a true gift of love! Other books I've read that I loved because of the way they made me feel.THE SHACK, ROSEFLOWER CREEK, EXPLOSION IN PARIS and WHISTLING IN THE DARK.And I bought these books also to give as inspiring gifts.
Ron Hall and Denver Moore (with Lynn Vincent) have beautifully written their deeply touching, compelling story. These two men from opposite ends of society are drawn together by the faith and love of Ron's wife, Deborah. They become dear, lifelong friends who ultimately change the lives of many. In alternating chapters, each man describes his own background and later, their shared experiences from his own point of view. Ron Hall, who has an MBA, was a wealthy, international art dealer.rich in worldly goods but poor in spirit. Denver Moore, who grew up picking cotton in slavery-like conditions.later upgrades to life on the streets of Fort Worth, TX. Deborah Hall's deep desire was to live her Christian faith and to love others unconditionally. Therefore, she volunteered at a Fort Worth homeless shelter, insisting that Ron accompany her and befriend a reluctant Denver. As their friendship evolves, they teach each other about faith and love. Deborah's compassion and profound love for the Lord changes all their lives forever. This is an incredibly inspirational story overflowing with life's lessons and words of wisdom that captured my heart with the very first words. It demonstrates how helping others really does make a difference. I absolutely love this book. It makes me want to be a better person and inspires me to make the world a better place. Also, it's important to see people as God sees them and not as they might appear to me. This unforgetable story will live in my heart forever.
This is a heartwarming, soul-searching, gutwrenching masterpiece that will absolutely fill your heart!!!! HUMAN DIGNITY!!!! Two other masterpieces I'd like to suggest is THE HELP by Kathryn Stockett and EXPLOSION IN PARIS by Linda Pirrung....HUMAN DIGNITY!! YES!!!
The Characters: Ron Hall - an international art dealer filled with preconceived notions about homeless people. Denver Moore - a homeless man who used to be a modern-day slave in a Louisiana plantation. Debbie Hall - the woman who persevered in bringing these two men together. The Story: Same Kind of Different as Me is the story of these two men, coming from totally different backgrounds, and how they have come together to build up a relationship that is filled with love, forgiveness and perseverance through hard times. My review: Seems like a plot from a movie, right? Amazingly, it is not. Instead, it is the true and amazing story of these two men and how their lives intertwined. Moreover, it is really the story of how God uses the unexpected, the unwanted to change the life of another. At first glance, I honestly thought that I would be bored with this book. But after reading the first few chapters, I found myself hooked and can hardly stop to put the book down. The story of these two men is so profoundly moving that it also posed a challenge in how I live my own life. This is a truly wonderful book and must be read by everyone. You will be encouraged and inspired to make the most of your life as you read Same Kind of Different as Me. Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Booksneeze as part of their Book Review program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."
Not too many books effect me enough to make me cry but this one did. Again it reminds us that there is goodness in people and that there is more to people than what we asssume them to be.
I could not put the book down once I started reading it. Ron Hall weaves a powerful story of three people whose backgrounds could not be more different and you can't wait to see how their lives intersect. However, I found myself dreading to read the part of the book about Debbie's diagnosis, treatment and death. Ron handles all of this and more in such a poignant way in telling the story of these amazing people. The dying process is not beautiful but the way that it was borne by Debbie and her famly is beautiful and is clearly shown in the book. It is truly a blessing to read. I hope we will hear more from Ron Hall and more about the legacy that Debbie left.
What an amazing book! Same Kind of Different As Me is told by Ron Hall - a wealthy art collector - & Denver Moore - a man who escaped slavery from a Louisiana plantation. The books goes back & forth between both men's lives to show how they are intertwined. Denver has become a transient after leaving the plantation & meets Deborah Hall (Ron's wife) who graciously helps him. When reading Ron's parts of the story, you will meet a man who is so in love with his wife as she is battling cancer. This book truly shows you both sides of the coin - rich & poor, black & white. But it also shows you just how compassionate people are. I highly recommend this amazing book. Once you start reading it, you won't want to put it down! Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com <http://BookSneeze.com> book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255 <http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html> : "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."
Same Kind of Different as Me: a modern-day slave, an international art dealer, and the unlikely woman who bound them together Ron Hall & Denver Moore with Lynn Vincent As I started this book I first struggled to connect with the characters: one very wealthy, one very poor. I was able to get through that. The book alternates between the two authors leading us their separate paths that eventual join together. I appreciated the look into not only urban poverty and homelessness but perpetual rural poverty. It made me think about some of my Kenyan friends who claimed all Americans are rich. Many of us forget running water is not ubiquitous even in the US. I enjoyed the vernacular writing of Denver, who made me read his parts in the voice of my great-uncle Bob. Deborah and family's battle with cancer, told through her husband, will bring tears to any married man.There is so much this book touches, and I suppose that is because it is a story of lives. Most importantly, it shows honest relationships among people and with God. The book reveals the love of God pouring through those who will let Him to actually alter the course of another person. I am thankful for the sacrifices of those written about, such as Sister Bettie, selling her home and moving in to the shelter to care for the homeless. This book gives me hope that relationships of radical love can open pockets of God's kingdom on earth. Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Thomas Nelson Publishers as part of their BookSneeze.com <http://BookSneeze.com> book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission's 16 CFR, Part 255 <http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html> : "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."
Same Kind of Different as Me tells the story of two men: an older, black, homeless man and a wealthy, white art dealer. Denver Moore is a vagabond who made his was to Fort Worth, Texas several years ago, leaving a life of modern day slavery, sharecropping, and crime back in Louisiana. Ron Hall is a wealthy, international art dealer who drives a Rolls and wears Armani. They are brought together by Ron's wife, who has a heart for the homeless in their area, and isn't content to stand by and do nothing. Themes such as love, commitment, friendship, loyalty, forgiveness, and dedication are all addressed in this amazing true story. Along with it, though, are stories of pain, heartbreak, and turmoil. It is a testament to the faith of one woman who brought together two unlikely men in a unique friendship. A friendship that not only would survive the tumultuous waves of life, but that would make huge strides in changing the world. Above just being an inspiring story, this book is a challenge to those of us who live comfortable lives. A calling to those of us who wake up, drive to work, and come home to dinner and a sitcom. It is a call to stand up and do something for humanity. It is a challenge to change lives, and in the process, maybe reform our own.
I work with a homeless outreach program and this really touched home. Everyone thinks that all homeless persons are bad. There are many out there who will give you the shirts off their back. Maybe this book will make people think twice before judging people by their looks.
This is such a wonderful story it touched my heart and my social consciousness. I found the author's introspective to be a honest reflection of many of our own personal lives. To see all three of these real people trimph, in their own way, over their personal, social and spritual road blocks was inspiring. Oh, you should also be ready to laugh out loud...after all, life is filled with lots of joy and sadness. This book gives you both!
An unlikely friendship formed between Ron and Denver, at the urging of a woman listening to God. Ron is an art dealer and hobnobs with high society. Denver was an uneducated black man from the cotton fields of the south who hopped a train one day. The woman was Ron's wife, Deborah, who to Denver became known as Miss Debbie. When "Same Kind Of Different As Me" first arrived at my house, my ten year old son snatched it up and took it away to read. He kept trying to tell me all about it, but I told him to wait until I had a chance to read it and not spoil the surprise. Let me just say that he loved it. When I first picked up this book to read, I had a hard time getting into it, but as I pressed on. The story pulled me in and by about half way through, I couldn't put it down. This book was raw, real, and revealing. In places, it drove me to tears. This book inspired me, challenged me, and caused me to think deeply about a great many things. It drove me out of my comfort zone by the words of a black man with a heart of gold. True friendship was forged through struggles and tragedy, and polished by heartache. If you are looking for a good read or need to be shaken out of complacency like I was, then I would highly recommend this book. Disclosure: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own.
Three people, different lives, knit together in time. As you read the pages of these lives, and see the struggles and victories. You will cry, laugh,and get angry at the injustice. This is a book that shows lives can be brought together,and used in a very glorious way.
This is the most moving book I have ever read. I was so inspired that Ron and Deborah determined not to be 'put-off' by the outward appearance, but to know the soul of the man, Denver. And what a treasure they did find! The wisdom that pours from Denver is overwhelming. I would love to sit at his feet and have him teach me. I have already purchased 10 books to give away and I need to order more.
This book should be required reading for every American as soon as he or she can read and comprehend. This story of friendship, hope, sadness and courage is what we need more of these days when our nation is threatened by those who would seek to divide us along the lines of color or language, wealth or poverty.
The story is told alternately between two very different men brought together by an amazing woman. It's a good book that can change your perspective, and this one does. I loved it.
Excellent book to read. This book will help with understanding the blurred lines between culture and race.
I loved this book. Coming from the Midwest we have no idea what life was like in the South and reading how this happened in my parents' lifetime was amazingly eye-opening. The book keeps you wanting to find out what happens next; it is full of inspiration and faith, yet also portrays prejudice and anger.
I haven't even finished reading the book yet but I would highly recommend it to anyone! A beautiful story about God's love, forgiveness and His perfect plan in bringing two very different men together in a friendship to last a lifetime. The book has already challenged me to look at people through God's eyes and not my own and to reach out to someone who I might feel is unreachable because God's limitless love knows knows bounds.
Loved this book so much I read the follow up book "What difference do it make." I was curious as to why some would give a 1 or 2 star rating. I was disappointed to see those that did so only did because they did not believe in God therefore the story was not a good book. This is a heartwarming, endearing book. Someone said only the Hall's church friend and family gave this a high rating. Sorry, I do not know these authors at all. I stumbled upon the book myself and fell in love. I even googled Denver wanting to meet and chat with the man but sadly found that he has passed on. Yes, if you are an atheist or agnostic, you may not believe the book. However I suggest reading it anyway. I enjoy reading how those with troubles pull through hard times; it is sad to think others simply think it is hogwash because of a difference of opinion. Talk about needing to open your eyes. I realize any book based on fact is still fabricated here and there-how can you possibly remember everything/every word? But this book is based on learning to accept life and be happy with what you have. And yes, this man has God in his life. I recommended this book to many people. I walked away feeling better about life, circumstances and it lifted my spirit up.
I was late in coming to the reading party, but am so glad I did. Never have I read a more inspiring well written book, especially the way Denver wrote his part. It was like he was reading it to me.
This book was a different read for me, but I loved it. As I was reading, I had to remind myself that it was a true story. Things are different in the world today and it was great reading such a heartfelt story. It made me want to jump up and go do something to help others. I do quite a bit of volunteer and fundraising, but nothing like what Ron and Debbie had done.
Didn't realize it was based on a real life experience.
Cried and praised God for a warm, caring, couple who really took tme to help another downtrodden human being . It taught how homeless have fears, feelings , and a need for love from all of us. Plan to buy thr sequel soon.
WOW I have many Books that I enjoyed reading. But this book was POWERFUL. BARBRA BUSH AND RICK PERRY are just a few whom became inspired after this true story. I am aware that as I continue to read many books I will come across many good reads. But this book is a must read. Again Powerful . It takes you to a place that u must be thankful for all u have in life and if u can help someone in need even if they do not ask . Just do it.