IMAGES. ARE THEY MERELY THIRD EYE INHABITANTS?

Blog number fifty-three                                        Oct 26, 2006

A few years back, when I was walking the streets of Sacramento in my bib overalls, black hat and barefoot, there existed a local newspaper called, "The Suttertown News." The owner/publisher/reporter was a local Midtown guy, often seen on his daily newspaper duty rounds. We would sometimes wind up at the same coffee houses.

One morning, reading his paper, I see a news article about a guy wearing bib overalls, barefoot, who came into the Suttertown Newspaper office ranting something about the "king of Jupiter’s imminent arrival and to beware.

Now, I knew right away that that wasn’t me that did that. And who else in Midtown dressed in bib overalls? No one that I knew. What adult - or child above the age of ten for that matter, went barefoot in the city? None that I knew. So what the hell was the owner/publisher/reporter doing putting something like that in his paper? What gripe did he have against me? I never talked to the guy. Said , "Hi" once in awhile, but why would that upset him? And why such a strange response to anything I might have done to upset him?

I had no solution to offer for that mystery until one day a young neighbor girl - Erinn, the daughter of Maryanne of an earlier blog entry, told me that she had seen a guy that looked just like me - clothes and everything - that she really thought it was me until a closer inspection convinced her it was not I. Ain’t that weird?

Was he the guy that stormed into the newspaper office? Probably.

Did I ever encounter him? No.

Was he a doppleganger? Possible.

An alternate self? God, I hope not.

                                          *****************

One of my earliest memories is of sitting on my grandmother’s knee with my older by two years brother Bill while she read the funnies to us. Pointing to a panel, she read it and went to the next. Passing a panel without reading it, reaching the end of the panels and stopping, I point to the panel she had not read and tell her, "read that one." She tells me that she can’t – that there were no words there to read.

Now, I don’t know if that was the beginning of my life-long love affair (what a trite saying) with the written word, but I remember it made an impact with me that there was a depth to the funnies that had escaped my consciousness, and I do still vividly remember that scene.

I read a lot.

A lot.

My favorite books are well-written biographies. I like Jon Carroll’s column in the San Francisco Chronicle for that reason - he writes about what he sees and what people say to him and what he thinks about these things. But there is one group of people who write autobiographies that I have sworn never again to open one of their efforts, but time and again I forget and get fooled. These autobiographies are those written by politicians.

They will not reveal themselves in their autobiographies as do actors, for instance. They hide the goodies. I think that might come from always presenting an image of themselves to the public instead of presenting their real selves. They just can’t get out of the habit. Or maybe more to the point, they don’t want to risk losing out on another run for office by saying something their opponents can use against them.

I never listen to speeches by politicians either. For the same reason. They never say anything that isn’t coded in some manner so they can backtrack if they have to. "No, I didn’t say that. You misunderstood me."

Have you noticed that after a speech by a politician we need pundits to tell us what the guy said?

I suppose you have already noticed that most of our lawmakers are lawyers? Coincidence? Could there be any special benefit for a lawyer to write the laws that he will be interpreting for his paying-big-bucks clients?

                                     *******************

I did some volunteer work at a hospital once and I found myself in the hallway that runs between floors talking to three nurses. We were laughing,joking around, and I was about to leave and I did a little dance which I used to do occasionallybecause it usually got a laugh - a takeoff on Jackie Gleason’s "And away we go..." Sure enough, the three nurses started laughing, but because a lot of my joking is of the schizophrenic type where you pretend it is serious, I did not laugh or smile with them. I kept talking as if nothing untoward had happened. They continued laughing until all at once, all three of them stopped laughing and began to look very uncomfortable. I realized I had gone too far, but I couldn’t think of a way to get back on track, so we four left each other at that.

About a year goes by and walking out of a restaurant in Midtown, I see one of those nurses. She acts like she doesn’t know me. I walk up to her and say, "HI. Remember me?" She says, "Yeah, I remember you," flat-like. As in, "go away, Creep" I realize then that they thought there was something wrong with me when I did that little dance and then acted as if I did no such thing. Oh well. Their loss, right?

****************

Hitchhiking from Iowa to California in 1955, on the western side of salt Lake City Utah, I see, from my seat on the passenger side of my ride, hitchhikers lining the highway going towards Los Angels. Hundreds of them! One guy was five mile outside of Salt Lake, on crutches. Did he walk that far on crutches or did he carry them in order to elicit pity and thus a ride? I was ever so grateful to have already gotten a ride and didn’t have to buck that competition. It was a sight I had seen no where else in all my years hitchhiking. I wonder if some of them are still there.

                                         *******************

When I was stationed in Perrin AFB, Dennison, Texas, we had to, each morning, polish our shoes because during the night cockroaches would eat the polish off and at night, walking downtown, the critters were constantly being crushed underfoot. Funny thing was, you got used to them and never paid them any mind.

Coming back from Oklahoma early in the morning, I pick up a guy who was also stationed at Perrin. I get too sleepy to drive any more, so I told the guy that and asked if he could drive. He agreed and I went into the back seat and fell asleep whereupon I was awakened by a loud crash and being thrown around. The guy had fallen asleep and ran into an oncoming Greyhound bus. Fortunately, not directly head on.

I get on the bus after some confusion due to the circumstances and the late hour, but also because I found out that we had passed Perrin. I asked my wayward driver where he had been headed and he told me he was going to Dallas. The creep done stole my car after I gave him a ride. I don’t know what happened to him after that. Probably started hitchhiking towards Dallas.

I had fifty dollar deductible and I hounded the guy until he at least paid me that. Strange thing was that an insurance guy came to my work and told me that due to the accident and the payoff by the insurance company, I still owed some insurance payments. He asked me if I was willing to pay them up and I told him I would, but I never did.

Two things. How did it come to pass that an insurance company allowed me to owe them money? And what made them think I would give them money for something I didn’t need or want? Crazy people.