Life=s Rich Pageants
I am sure most of us have heard the idiom Apart of life=s rich pageant(s)@ used in various contexts. It first had personal meaning for me when a fellow naval officer mentioned it during a conversation on flying. My associate was a free spirit, carrier aviator who often referred to unforeseen and consequential events as “part of life=s rich pageants.@ Life as a naval aviator can be precarious, and this was his way to rationalize traumatic events that happen in the air, often with fatal consequences. Our conversation occurred over 30 years ago, but my associate=s observation left an indelible imprint on my mind and provided me with a comforting philosophical blanket that I have carried with me ever since. On more than one occasion, I have referred to Apart of life=s rich pageants@ when attempting to explain some unforeseen event that affected my life, no matter whether it caused a positive or negative impact.
From a personal perspective, I am now at a point in life where I frequently reminisce about people, places and events that have influenced me over the years. Unquestionably, the Apeople factor@ comes to the forefront as a major motivator for shaping and molding my life, and yes, I can write countless pages on the people I have known who have influenced me during those years. Similarly, I can write about action-packed events and distant places that I have experienced over the past 40 years, but this is not my intent. Instead, I apply my time-tested philosophical perspective to assist me in bringing back windows of the past through which I peer to find those special memories that have contributed to my outlook on life. Early on I realized one cannot separate people from places and events; they are in fact very much interwoven into life=s scenes. When I look through those windows of my earlier years, two incidents quickly come to mind….
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I was a sophomore at an all men=s university situated on a mountain top in the middle of Tennessee. It was a mid-week in February with a cold fog shrouding the mountain. I was procrastinating over academic workload and looking for a diversion. I decided to drive to a local college hangout for beer and pizza. It was 10:00 p.m. when I walked into the tavern which was empty of customers except for a lone individual sitting at the food counter. I walked to the rear of the tavern and chose a booth that provided a strategic view of the room. The only waitress in the establishment came over and took my order. I lit up a cigarette and sat back totally bored, not having accomplished anything by leaving my dormitory room. The other customer stood up from his stool and walked toward my booth. It was obvious that he was coming to see me. He paused about five feet from the booth; we acknowledged each other with a nod. I recognized him as a local mountain man who had a reputation as a moonshiner and sometime artist who sketched charcoal drawings of moonshine stills scenically situated on mountainsides. A couple of his sketches were picture-framed on the wall at the tavern’s entranceway. Campus gossip had him spending time in the penitentiary because of his moonshine activities. He asked if he could join me, and I replied in the affirmative. As he took a seat on the opposite bench, I managed a closer look at him. He had a lean, ruddy face and looked to be in his early thirties. His most memorable features were his piercing blue eyes and the gap where his bottom two front teeth were missing. I offered to buy him a beer, and he accepted with a nod. As we conversed, I notice his hands were shaking.
He said, AYou=re one of them college boys, ain=t you?@
AYes, I am.@
AWhy are you here on a school night? You should be studying.@
AI got tired of studying,@ I replied. AI needed to take a break.@
AYou should take advantage of them books,@ he said. AYou don=t know how lucky you are.@
I was puzzled by this last statement and assumed that he was resentful of my current circumstances compared to his. But then he commenced to recite lengthy passages from The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. His hands stopped shaking, and his throaty voice gained momentum as he immersed himself in the mariner=s tale. He eloquently spoke from an inner depth of feeling, and I understood that he was far away in another time and place. I was as spellbound as the wedding guest described in that nautical epic. Finally, my companion finished his recitation and looked at me with a sheepish smile. There was a moment of silence as I attempted to digest what had just occurred. I managed to ask, AWhere did you learn that?@
AI had plenty of time to learn such things,@ he said. I surmised he was referring to his time in prison.
ADid you go to high school?@ It was rumored that a sizable percentage of mountain people did not complete secondary education in those days.
AI graduated from high school.@
AYou should have gone to college.@
AThe Korean War took me away from all of that,@ he said.
I hesitated, not sure how I should respond to that statement. We sipped our beers listening to the sounds of country music selected by the waitress on the jukebox. Finally, I said, AYou really must like to read.@
AYeah, I do.@
AI can get you some books.@
ANo, it=s too late for that,@ he replied. AYou just take advantage of your chance and stick with them books. You can never get enough learning.@
AI will,@ I said. AIs there anything that I can do for you?@
ANo, but thanks for the beer. You take care of yourself and get back to your school.@
My companion got up from his seat and departed the tavern. He left me in a very contemplative and sobering mood. I was in awe of what I had just witnessed, and I also felt very humble. I realized how fortunate I was to be in college. I made a promise to myself that I would take full advantage of my opportunity and make every effort to graduate. Strangely, I returned to my dormitory with anticipation and a feeling of exhilaration.
We never crossed paths again. On a couple of occasions, I saw him from a distance, but if he recognized me, he did not acknowledge it. Nearly two and a half years later, on a warm June day, I walked down the aisle of the university=s chapel and received my B.A. degree. Soon thereafter, I arrived on the island of Nantucket where I worked as a tour bus driver and a taxicab driver for the next 12 weeks. My dual-hatted job led to a second memorable experience….
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Thursday night and it was my turn to meet the weekly steamboat from the mainland and pick up any fares from the passengers disembarking. The ferry was late because of fog and was not safely in its berth until after 10:30 p.m. Although few passengers disembarked, I managed to pick up one fare. My passenger was a woman less than four feet tall who arrived with a huge load of luggage which I managed to securely stow in the old Cadillac limousine. Right from the start I suspected that she was in a foul mood because her initial communication bordered on rudeness. No problem, I knew I could handle the situation. I had met all kinds of people during my brief tenure in this line of work, and one thing I learned was to keep your cool. She gave me the address for her destination. It would be a quick trip; the destination was only five minutes away.
During our transit, she complained about the ferry=s late arrival. I assumed this was why she was in a bad mood. Oh well, I=ll soon be rid of her, I thought as I turned onto our destination street. The street lighting was poor, and most of the houses were situated a good 50 feet back from the roadside with some hidden by tall shrubbery. I had a premonition that finding the house number was going to be difficult, but again, no problem for I had a flashlight.
Slowly, we drove down the street looking at the odd numbered houses on our right. Any second now we should come to our house number. Oh, oh--we must have passed it. Well, I=ll just turn around down here at the end of the street. My passenger began to question my knowledge of the area and whether I had the right street. I assured her that I did. Again, I drove by where the address location should be, but there was no house. I stopped and backed up. I confirmed the numbers on the houses on each side of the one I was looking for, but I saw no house between them. Maybe there’s a little bungalow way there in the back, I thought. I parked the car, grabbed my flashlight and told my passenger I would be right back. I walked between the two houses all the way to the backyards, but there was no bungalow. I returned to the car and asked my passenger to confirm her address. She angrily responded by calling me an incompetent and a worthless taxicab driver. At that moment I realized I was in a dicey situation. I tried to maintain my composure and not respond to her in anger.
I was thinking there must be another street with the same name. I decided to drive back into town, hoping that our office was still open and whoever was there could assist me with directions. I told my passenger my plan, and for the moment, that appeared to appease her. Nevertheless, she continued to fire strings of verbal abuse as we headed back into town. The venom coming from her mouth alarmed me. Never before had I experienced such a spiteful person.
We arrived at the office and found it closed. The streets were empty of people, and the fog was getting thicker. My passenger=s haranguing never ceased and was bordering on the hysterical.
I didn’t know how much more abuse I could take from my passenger, but I still felt a responsibility for her safety even though my anger and frustration were building. It was now 11:30 p.m. Suddenly, I spotted a native islander who was an employee for our competition. Surely he knows this address, I thought. I stopped the car and explained my dilemma. He knew exactly the address location, and he got into the front passenger seat and directed us back to where we had come from. Now my passenger began calling him an incompetent and lashing him with her verbal abuse. To my dismay I discovered that the islander was totally inebriated and wasn=t about to take such flak. He gave as good as he got.
Now, my passenger became hysterical and screamed for the police. I had to get the islander out of the car. I sped back into town and dropped him off. I=ll never forget the foul names he called her. She was absolutely mortified and kept crying for the police. With resignation, I drove over to the police station, but the station was closed. Now, we both sat in silence, exhausted by the turn of events. Finally, I told her the only thing I knew to do was to go back to the address with the hope that someone would be out there looking for us. She nodded her agreement. I retraced our route, and one block prior to our destination street we saw some people standing in the middle of the road. Thank God! They were the people she was looking for. My passenger had given me the wrong street name. She paid me but never acknowledged her mistake nor did she apologize for her spiteful behavior. I was terribly angry but managed to hold my peace. In retrospect, I believe she was more alarmed than I was, and the verbal venom spewing out of her mouth was a defensive mechanism. But such rationale came way after the incident.
It was well past midnight before I reached my apartment, emotionally drained. Later that morning, I tried to comprehend what had occurred the previous night. Although I thought my passenger had been very unfair to me, I rationalized that life had been unfair to her because of her diminutive size, and maybe, that was why she was such a bitter person. I was the fortunate one.
These two experiences heightened my sensitivity toward others= misfortunes, and through the years, I believe, have helped develop me into a better person. Yes, when I look back, I can say they are very much part of my Alife=s rich pageants.@
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Maurice H. Unger
© July 15, 2005