In book of leftovers, author found his calling

Thursday, Dec. 2, 2004 | 8:15 a.m.

It began with an angry letter erroneously left on the windshield of Davy Rothbart's Toyota Corolla:

"Mario, I (expletive) hate you. You said you had to work then whys (sic) your car here at her place?? You're a (expletive) LIAR. I hate you. I (expletive) hate you. Amber.

"PS Page me later."

Since then Rothbart has photocopied, published, dramatized and paid homage to other people's love notes, grocery lists, to-do lists, homework and posted signs.

They range from "OUCH! Barb, I thought this was a cookie!" written on a Post-it, to "Princess, May this small token of my love be a constant reminder that you are the passion that fuels my fire" on a Tiffany's card.

The only criteria is that they must be found. Anywhere. On a street, in a hallway, in an old piece of furniture.

Between Rothbart's Web site (www.foundmagazine.com) and his book "Found," published this year by Simon & Schuster ($14), Rothbart has founded a Found Movement. He's been on National Public Radio and written about in the New Yorker, Esquire and in newspapers across the country.

At his "Found" shows, which Rothbart refers to as "rowdy reading/music" events, Rothbart reads the found notes with the energy and emotion in which they might have been written. His brother, Peter, writes and performs songs based on the lists and notes that were found.

On Friday, Rothbart and his brother will be hosting a "Found" show in Las Vegas for First Friday.

Just outside Albuquerque (in a white Dodge van bought on eBay), where Rothbart, 29, and and his brother, 24, were nearing the end of their 126-city tour, Rothbart talked about the road trip that has lasted eight months and fattened the collection of notes and lists that made their way into other people's hands.

"It's a project that relies on the participation of as many people as possible," Rothbart said. "We get about 10 to 15 (submissions) a day. It all goes to my parents' house. There are seven or eight crates stacked up. If it's a particularly interesting package, my mom likes to open it.

"The bulk of the great new stuff is from people bringing stuff to events." The notes vary in tone and grammar and provide insight into different lifestyles. One list includes "hide guns." Another reads, "Go to church. Find God, than (sic) myself through him. Get Baptised (sic)."

They are straightforward: "We will cooperate with you if you dont (sic) want us here just ask us. Thanks Scott."

They are perplexing: "Dear Tim ... I'm sending you a 'shower gift' -, Practice on the Cat!!!! XOXO Mom."

They are demanding (and horribly spelled): "You see the sine so move know."

They are honest: "You really are 'gifted.' i wish i could 'talk french' like you. i just thought it was funny coming from mme (sic) sorry for laughing."

Some are heartbreaking. Some are vulgar. Some are notes warning of conspiracy theories. Some are threatening. Others are inspirational.

"So many of them are both funny and heartbreaking," Rothbart said. "And that's so true to life. I was struck mostly by the similarities of us.

"So many of these notes are fragments of a story and it's up to you to complete the story. It's just so haunting. It leaves you wondering. I've literally stayed up all night wondering, 'What's happened ... 'Where's Amber and Mario?' "

Rothbart grew up in Ann Arbor, Mich., where he attended high school and college and studied creative writing.

"I'd been finding these notes and letters as a kid," he said. "I remember being amazed at how you could connect with someone by a half-page piece of paper you find on the ground. I'd take them home and talk about them with my mom.

"You recognize yourself in them. I look at them and say, 'I've written that same love note 100 times before. We make those lists, 'drop off dry cleaning, go to the grocery store, learn to live free.' "

Rothbart often changes the names on personal letters, but still has been contacted by the authors who found their list, love note or sign in his annual Found Magazine (three issues for $23.21). One woman contacted him and gave him an update on her romance.

"I thought in the future I could do a 'Where are they now?'," Rothbart said. "People do get in touch and say, 'Hey that's mine.' I didn't know if they'd be freaked out, pissed off. But some have been maybe honored or mystified, wondering why would anyone even care about their love life."

Though Rothbart always had an interest in these notes and lists, he didn't start organizing them until he got the letter from Amber to Mario.

"I'd show it to my friends, wishing I could share it with more people," Rothbart said. "For a year after I found that note, I tried to collect as much as I could."

When he had enough, he took them in to be photocopied and made into 50 magazines that he could distribute. When he took what he had to a Kinko's in Chicago at 3 a.m. an employee said, "This is awesome. You should make 800."

Over the next couple of nights he and the Kinko's employee worked on the magazine, then Rothbart hosted a party to hand them out. At the end of the party there were 700 magazines remaining. Rothbart left town on a trip, and when he returned, they were all gone. He thought his roommates threw them out.

As it turned out, Rothbart said, "People were coming over day and night to get one, five, 10 copies for their friends. Neighbors were calling the police. They thought it was a crack house."

The interest, he said, comes from everyone, not just young, arty people, but doctors, lawyers, businessmen, janitors, letter carriers, librarians and schoolteachers.

"In St. Louis, six cops in uniforms brought stuff from things they found on their shifts," Rothbart said. "It draws anyone who has a sense of curiosity and wonder about the people we share the world with. We're surrounded by strangers all the time, walking to work, sitting on the bus."

It's such people who have inspired Rothbart on his next book, "The Lone Surfer of Montana, Kansas," a collection of his short stores, published by Simon & Schuster and scheduled for release next year.

The title comes from an experience Rothbart had while driving through Kansas.

"I saw a kid standing in a corn field, on a surfboard propped up between two broken-down tractors, practicing surfing at sunset. He wasn't in a thousand miles of either coast. I stopped and watched him. I don't think he ever saw me. But it sort of sparked an interest.

"People are really fascinating. To me, I get high off just meeting people, experiencing people. In crossing paths, you get a deep and powerful sense of them. There's a thrill."

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