Rent's smile made an impression

The first time I saw Al Rent was probably on our television set.

For something like a couple of decades, Al was the face of the annual “telesale,” the TV auction supporting the Muncie Public Broadcasting station, WIPB.

While volunteers mugged and flubbed their lines, Al was the professional on board. He was the guy who kept the wheels turning, even when it seemed at times as if the wheels were ready to fall off.

And he made it look effortless.

With a million dollar smile, he was simultaneously polished and self-deprecating.

You knew, even through the TV screen, that if you ever had a chance to meet this guy in person you would like him. You knew he was genuine, that the smile was real and not forced.

Maybe the second time I saw him was back when our twins were looking at the Indiana Academy for Math, Science and the Humanities. The program, still in its infancy, was based on the Ball State University campus and shared some facilities in those days with Burris, the “experimental” school at BSU.

It was on a weekend, and we were taking a kind of informal tour. I’m not sure whether the girls were students at the academy by then or not. They may still have been in the “let me think about this” phase.

But at one point, we found ourselves wandering the empty halls of Burris at the same time Al was giving an equally informal tour to his twin brother Andy and other family members.

And I found myself thinking, “Hey, there’s that guy with the smile from the Telesale!”

It wasn’t like encountering a celebrity. And Al would have scoffed at that designation.

But there was something cool about running into someone whose face had first appeared in our family room on TV.

We got to know each other better after that, and it was always good.

Not too long after the Burris encounter, I found myself on the board of Minnetrista, the remarkable Ball-family-supported cultural center in Muncie. I was the token Jay County representative, but it wasn’t long before I found myself as chairman of Minnetrista’s marketing committee.

Al was on the committee, and he was always engaged and involved.

It was as if the guy didn’t have an “off” switch. Ideas would bubble out in brainstorming sessions. Discussions of what worked and what hadn’t worked took place without a moment’s rancor or pettiness. It was always about making things better, about bringing things and people and institutions and communities up to their potential. And the energy never stopped.

Over the years, at formal events, my wife and I tended to gravitate to Al’s table. I’d like to think he gravitated to ours as well, because — truth be told — Al was one of those people you wanted to like you. His opinion of you mattered. There was something like a seal of approval in that smile.

And it was a playful smile.

A couple of years ago, we found ourselves at a Minnetrista dinner with some heavy hitters. We had no idea how we’d been put on the guest list, but we were delighted to end up at Al’s table. His wife, Linda, was unable to attend. But Al was in fine form, and the conversation made the potential stuffiness of the occasion evaporate.

The food, of course, was great. And Al loved a great dessert.

So does my wife, and when she asked the staff if she could have the recipe, they gladly obliged, printing it out and bringing it to our table.

Al’s response? He whipped out his phone and took a picture of the recipe. He was going to take that sweet treat home.

Most recently, of course, came Al’s involvement in the WIPB-TV broadcast of “Now Entering … Portland” last year.

As usual, he had a ball, especially right at the end when he interviewed the perpetually ornery Jim Bob McEwen. They were both laughing by the time the interview was over, and there on Al’s face was that smile, that amazing smile.