Everybody Has a Story
Well, it’s that time again, ladies and gentlemen. Yes, it’s the time where I reveal something about myself that makes each and every one of you scratch your head, choke on your morning corn flakes, look up from your screen and say, “No way. That’s not the Peter Hall I know! He’s above this! I mean, he’s Peter ‘Freaking’ Hall!!!” Oh, this ought to be good… Easy, killer. As the seasons change and the beauty and romance of autumn is slowly making its way toward the seemingly long and desolate winter, I’m here to confess that I have been known on the odd occasion to complain. I’ll pause while the millions of you gather yourselves and try to face the day.
OK, time’s up. Yes, it would seem that every once in a while…I whine. Really? You whine? That’s your headline?? I’m taking a nap. And not just about important things like the crisis between liberalism and science, or the rise of anti-Semitism in this country and abroad. It’s the little things. Like the above paragraph and the changing of the seasons. For the love of Yahweh, I hate the cold. If I didn’t think the state would somehow screw up my presidential vote, I’d move to south Florida tomorrow. Plenty of golf; no state income tax; wrestling with sharks in the ocean…ah, paradise. I’m holding off on Hawaii until all that volcanic ash settles…then it’s “Aloha, baby!”
But let’s get back to the whining. However unseemly and juvenile it is, I’m a pro. But I’d like to get a jump on the new year and make an early resolution to stop, at least about the weather. And if you don’t mind, here’s why. For those of you who don’t know, the borough of Newtown here in Bucks County is a wonderful little hamlet: home to fine dining, friendly bars, high- and low-end shops, and salons and law firms to please just about everyone. And let’s not forget the obligatory one-bedroom apartments for $2,900/month! Really? Anyway, what it was never perceived to have, at least to the casual observer, was homelessness. San Francisco’s got homeless; New York City has homeless; Philly and D.C. have homeless. Newtown? Are you kidding?
But not long ago I was told about a man who spent every morning in one of the local coffee-houses. By most accounts he was deemed to be homeless. The description is familiar: tattered clothes along with the long, unruly hair and the scraggly beard, as well as a bodily odor that caused more than one patron to politely relocate within the shop. Patrons saw him talking to himself at times while he listened to his iPod through ear phones. The owners of the coffee-house would allow him to sit as long as he liked while he drank his coffee – a daily gift from the establishment.
As time went on, some patrons complained about the odor as well as a growing tendency of the man to become more and more, shall we say, aggressive and loud during his conversations with the disembodied voices. Finally, management felt they had no choice but to call the police, who came and escorted the man out. The weather was still nice.
I suppose we all make assumptions about what happened next. I know I do. Sadly, the man is clearly in need of psychiatric help at most; and a place to stay, at the very least. I don’t know what powers the police have in addressing those two things but I’m guessing not much. Not long afterward I saw him for myself leaning up against the outside of a 7-11 with a cup and a sign. And some time after that, he was sitting alone at a table in a local bar staring vacantly at a bottle of beer with the iPod that had been described to me weeks before, while people laughed and enjoyed life all around him as if he was not even there. As if he were a spirit, conjured up by a school project or an imagination that wanted to see who amongst us would feel guilty…or lucky. As I stood at the other end of the room with a glass of wine waiting for a take-out order, the likes of which this gentleman probably hadn’t had in a long time, I felt both guilty…and lucky.
Just like you and I, dear reader, this guy has a story. They all do. Troubled war veteran who can’t find his way? Husband and father who lost his way because of the bottle or drugs? Each of these reasons or more, amplified by a brain that doesn’t work quite as well as it should. And what do we do? I don’t know. Serious minded people have legitimate differences as to what to do. Many of these ideas have been tried and for brief moments in time there is hope. But it’s not going away anytime soon.
Although it wasn't my intention to connect this post to it, I just realized as I write these words that next week is Thanksgiving. My father would give some sort of cosmic significance to that! Maybe we give to an orgnaization that helps these people. Maybe someone volunteers somewhere. At the very least, if our life is a good one, be humble enough to be thankful.
Whatever his story...it's getting cold. And I'm never going to whine about the weather again.
OK, time’s up. Yes, it would seem that every once in a while…I whine. Really? You whine? That’s your headline?? I’m taking a nap. And not just about important things like the crisis between liberalism and science, or the rise of anti-Semitism in this country and abroad. It’s the little things. Like the above paragraph and the changing of the seasons. For the love of Yahweh, I hate the cold. If I didn’t think the state would somehow screw up my presidential vote, I’d move to south Florida tomorrow. Plenty of golf; no state income tax; wrestling with sharks in the ocean…ah, paradise. I’m holding off on Hawaii until all that volcanic ash settles…then it’s “Aloha, baby!”
But let’s get back to the whining. However unseemly and juvenile it is, I’m a pro. But I’d like to get a jump on the new year and make an early resolution to stop, at least about the weather. And if you don’t mind, here’s why. For those of you who don’t know, the borough of Newtown here in Bucks County is a wonderful little hamlet: home to fine dining, friendly bars, high- and low-end shops, and salons and law firms to please just about everyone. And let’s not forget the obligatory one-bedroom apartments for $2,900/month! Really? Anyway, what it was never perceived to have, at least to the casual observer, was homelessness. San Francisco’s got homeless; New York City has homeless; Philly and D.C. have homeless. Newtown? Are you kidding?
But not long ago I was told about a man who spent every morning in one of the local coffee-houses. By most accounts he was deemed to be homeless. The description is familiar: tattered clothes along with the long, unruly hair and the scraggly beard, as well as a bodily odor that caused more than one patron to politely relocate within the shop. Patrons saw him talking to himself at times while he listened to his iPod through ear phones. The owners of the coffee-house would allow him to sit as long as he liked while he drank his coffee – a daily gift from the establishment.
As time went on, some patrons complained about the odor as well as a growing tendency of the man to become more and more, shall we say, aggressive and loud during his conversations with the disembodied voices. Finally, management felt they had no choice but to call the police, who came and escorted the man out. The weather was still nice.
I suppose we all make assumptions about what happened next. I know I do. Sadly, the man is clearly in need of psychiatric help at most; and a place to stay, at the very least. I don’t know what powers the police have in addressing those two things but I’m guessing not much. Not long afterward I saw him for myself leaning up against the outside of a 7-11 with a cup and a sign. And some time after that, he was sitting alone at a table in a local bar staring vacantly at a bottle of beer with the iPod that had been described to me weeks before, while people laughed and enjoyed life all around him as if he was not even there. As if he were a spirit, conjured up by a school project or an imagination that wanted to see who amongst us would feel guilty…or lucky. As I stood at the other end of the room with a glass of wine waiting for a take-out order, the likes of which this gentleman probably hadn’t had in a long time, I felt both guilty…and lucky.
Just like you and I, dear reader, this guy has a story. They all do. Troubled war veteran who can’t find his way? Husband and father who lost his way because of the bottle or drugs? Each of these reasons or more, amplified by a brain that doesn’t work quite as well as it should. And what do we do? I don’t know. Serious minded people have legitimate differences as to what to do. Many of these ideas have been tried and for brief moments in time there is hope. But it’s not going away anytime soon.
Although it wasn't my intention to connect this post to it, I just realized as I write these words that next week is Thanksgiving. My father would give some sort of cosmic significance to that! Maybe we give to an orgnaization that helps these people. Maybe someone volunteers somewhere. At the very least, if our life is a good one, be humble enough to be thankful.
Whatever his story...it's getting cold. And I'm never going to whine about the weather again.
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