The State Of The World

The state of the world, and especially my opinion of the world, even my consideration of my place in the world, are all subjects that I try never to think about. I struggle like the hero in Children of the Damned to build a solid brick wall between myself and such matters. I get results that are mixed.

Just now an old memory came to me. A fifty year old memory. A memory from an age that is well and truly gone. I was driving taxis in New York at the time, and one night after one a.m. I found myself waiting on a taxi line at the terminus of the Seven train in Queens, listening to my radio and leaning on the open window, I guess it was not winter. As the District Attorney said to the witness, “did you see anything unusual?”

Why, yes I did. There was a pretty famous bar across the street. They sold hot dogs boiled in beer, and called themselves an “Oyster Bar.” They did a good business. I heard a commotion, and looked over to see two big white guys dragging a very intoxicated black gentleman by the arms between them. It's a broad street there, and they took him a couple of steps past the curb before they launched him, stumbling, out into the street. He landed right on the double yellow lines marking the lanes.

The man was no kid; he was about sixty years old. Or maybe a hardscrabble fifty-five, or, as things go, sixty-five or more, it being famously difficult to judge the age of individuals belonging to a race other than one's own. He laid there peacefully for a long moment before pushing himself up onto an elbow.

“Motherfuckers,” he said. There was no particular emotion in it, just a simple statement of fact.

“Low-down motherfuckers.” (With a bit more conviction.)

“Dirty, low-down motherfuckers.”

“Filthy, dirty, low-down motherfuckers.” (Anger slowly building.)

“Stinking, filthy dirty, low-down motherfuckers.”

He had slowly worked himself up to a seated position, leaning forward on his knees. He had some wind back in his sails now, as he looked back towards the bar and said forcefully, “pair of no good, stinking, filthy dirty, low-down motherfuckers!”

He found the strength to rise to his feet. He held his arms out slightly, for balance, testing his abilities before attempting to walk. Satisfied that walking would probably work out okay, he looked around a bit to get his bearings and set off up the street. He walked along the double yellow lines until he was well past the bar and then moved to the sidewalk, disappearing into the distance.

It occurs to me that the old man's opinion of the people who tossed him into the street is very close to my opinion of the world, and probably sums up the state of the world as well.