On Being There, Man

Waiting for a train this morning on 5th Avenue, I fell into conversation with a fellow going to his job at the central library in Portland.

He told me how he secured his job, which I won't get into, suffice to say it was not through what might be considered normal channels.

You see, he is a contract laborer. Our conversation turned to wages and how the American economy has been stymied by the wages versus costs gap, the inflationary reality we love to hate, which is a terrible problem for a vast segment of U.S. workers, and has been for years.

You know, the workers that make the fat cats wealthy? Those guys and gals? Possibly you, and most definitely me, whenever I'm fortunate enough to have a job. Which is sort of rare these day, ah...uhm...(cough, cough).

Naturally enough, the conversation turned to the day the free-fall started, which we agreed was the day Ronald Reagan became president. I mean, this fellow and I, about the same age, were in sync. Pow!

We commiserated some more, recalling that when the dumb actor-turned president died, a vast outpouring of sentimentality seized the nation, perpetuated by big-arsed corporate media. I think I saw Tom Brokow crying, and Lesley Stahl, my God, such sadness!

Why, oh why?

My new friend was quick with it, knew the score, had been around and around, had read the news, was in tune, had been there and done that, had been a witness to history, had felt the hand slap of fate, was down with it, was as clear as the Oregon sky on a rare good day, was both hip and knowing, etc.

He said, "Because Americans are stupid."

That was the correct answer, exactly what I wanted to hear! And this was a stranger, honest to God, not some crony in the street, or a planted co-conspirator of mine tempting passers-by to punch us! No! No!

This was an honest-to-God citizen of Portland, a beautiful character, a truth teller. My new friend.

Then, being brilliant as he is he said, Reagan always reminded him of Peter Sellers in that movie...what was it called again...you know, Seller plays this...

And I said, quoting a poet--

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"

And my new pal?

He chortled in his joy.

Ronald Reagan was Peter Sellers in Being There.

The train rolled to a stop in front of me and this brilliant man I'd come to know so well after only five minutes.

We got on, certain we had solved one of the great mysteries of life, and went our separate ways.


TS