Atlanta Folks

Statue of a man very excited to point out his favorite tree to a young boy.

Here are some notes I made about the various people I met while loitering outside The W Downtown Atlanta.

Johnny Ray

Don't forget Johnny Ray, the crazy fellow who sprayed spittle when he talked and pulled out a knife. He wasn't threatening at all. Just wanted me to buy him a cold beer for his birthday. He showed me his ID to prove it was his birthday. I gave him a smoke, and asked him to put away his blade, instead.

The Lady

There was the lady, didn't get her name, but she liked basketball, well… basketball players. She was into the cute ones. Said the Hawks were not good looking. Didn't know who the Hornets were, and I wasn't able to tell her if they were cute or not. She liked menthols. Only took two puffs off the Spirit I gave her. I wasn't offended and told her so.

EJ

EJ was waiting for his girl to pick him up. She was at the club. He doesn't like clubs. Couldn't figure out what he did for work, but he thought Atlanta had gotten crazy with money. He wondered where it was at, and how he could get some. He loved muscle cars. He recently wrecked his Dodge, that's why he was waiting for a ride. His next car is gonna be a Grand Prix. He wanted to be in music. Said his granddaddy was a Temptation. Maybe true? No reason not to believe him. He was trying to smoke a broken cigarette, just needed a light. I gave him an American Spirit. He didn't complain.

Greg

Then, Greg. He installed those yellow poles you see in parking lots. Said it payed good and gave benefits. $18/hr. They didn't buy his lunch like they did when he was a professional mover. He'd done a lot of physical work. First job was moving for his mom's friend's company when he was 13. He'd been a roofer, brick mason, and stone mason. Skilled, hardworking fellow. I liked Greg a lot.

Anywhere I've Been

I travel. A lot.

I've had the joy and the privilege to visit 47 of our 50 United States in my lifetime. In fact, in just the past three years I've spent nearly half my life on the road.

In these three years, I've spent time in small American towns in Florida, Pennsylvania, California, Georgia, North Carolina, New York, South Carolina, Maryland, Tennessee, Alaska, Ohio, Louisiana, New Jersey, Virginia, Oregon, Washington, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Mississippi.

I've spent time in mid-sized American cities like Minneapolis, Richmond, Charlotte, Ft. Lauderdale, Portland, Columbus, and Memphis.

I've spent time in big American cities like Miami, Atlanta, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Boston, San Fransisco, Los Angeles, Washington, D.C., San Diego, and New York.

I've spent time on the right side of the tracks. I've spent time on the wrong side of the tracks.

I live in Brooklyn.

I've spent hours talking to vastly different people, with vastly different backgrounds, who hold vastly different beliefs, and who lead vastly different lives.

I've shared and prayed with Muslims, Christians, Jews, atheists, and spiritual folks who chose not to align their beliefs with any specific religion.

I've lived along side white people, black people, Latinos, Asian-Americans, and people living here in America from countries too many to count.

I know and love people who are straight, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender.

Many of my family members are Republicans. Many of my coworkers are Democrats. My brother is Libertarian. My friends are all of the above.

All this is to say that I have had the joy and the privilege to experience America in a deep, and varied, and personal, and intimate way.

Over the past two weeks I watched and listened to politicians, analysts, correspondents, talking heads, editorialists, admired actors, forgotten celebrities, brave soldiers, patriotic citizens, and people who grieve lost loved ones.

As I watched and listened, I saw painted two startlingly different portraits of America. Frankly, I'm not sure these two pictures could be any more different.

But only one version matches the America I know and love, the America I've been able to experience from sea to sea, from north to south, from small town to big city to cities every size in between.

And if that other America does exist, it sure doesn't exist anywhere I've been.

Grandad's Don't Like Lazy

The other day on Twitter I saw a link to this redit thread where folks were posting stories about extreme laziness. The winner was certainly this response about an OPS in the Navy:

I was once on a US military ship, having breakfast in the wardroom (officers lounge) when the Operations Officer (OPS) walks in. This guy was the definition of NOT a morning person; he’s still half asleep, bleary eyed… basically a zombie with a bagel. He sits down across from me to eat his bagel and is just barely conscious. My back is to the outboard side of the ship, and the morning sun is blazing in one of the portholes putting a big bright-ass circle of light right on his barely conscious face. He’s squinting and chewing and basically just remembering how to be alive for today. It’s painful to watch.

But then zombie-OPS stops chewing, slowly picks up the phone, and dials the bridge. In his well-known I’m-still-totally-asleep voice, he says “heeeey. It’s OPS. Could you… shift our barpat… yeah, one six five. Thanks.” And puts the phone down. And then he just sits there. Squinting. Waiting.

And then, ever so slowly, I realize that that big blazing spot of sun has begun to slide off the zombie’s face and onto the wall behind him. After a moment it clears his face and he blinks slowly a few times and the brilliant beauty of what I’ve just witnessed begins to overwhelm me. By ordering the bridge to adjust the ship’s back-and-forth patrol by about 15 degrees, he’s changed our course just enough to reposition the sun off of his face. He’s literally just redirected thousands of tons of steel and hundreds of people so that he could get the sun out of his eyes while he eats his bagel. I am in awe.

He slowly picks up his bagel and for a moment I’m terrified at the thought that his own genius may escape him, that he may never appreciate the epic brilliance of his laziness (since he’s not going to wake up for another hour). But between his next bites he pauses, looks at me, and gives me the faintest, sly grin, before returning to gnaw slowly on his zombie bagel.

I thought my Grandaddy, born and raised in Mississippi, and veteran of the US Navy, might find humor in this story. Based on his response, I’m not so sure:

This OPS officer was an only child and spoiled, and I hope was not married.

No question he was a “Ninety Day Wonder.”

He, no doubt is the son of a Congressman/Senator or is a heavy contributor to the Democratic Party.

It makes me wonder how we won the war.

And, he will be running the Goverment when he leaves the Service.

This person will be as dedicated to his work in civilian life as he was as OPS.

God bless America.

God bless America, indeed.