Contents of U:
There have always been people in this world who are under-privileged. For
the most part these people endure their sorry lot through no choice or fault of
their own, and we ought to feel guilty that such an underclass exists. We make
economic choices, political choices, and social choices which make the
underclass a persistent reality. Please do not fall into the trap of concluding
ãthere will always be poor peopleä. The reality is: there will be an
underclass until we change the socioeconomic structure of this world.
Unity for unityâs sake is dumb. In fact, enforced unity is not unity at
all; it is coercion, enforced assimilation. True unity coalesces organically
when people of common heart and mind find each other. You cannot find something
or someone when you are not searching. Keep looking for those who share your
vision, and unity will be your reward.
Naturalizing
the unnatural and carefully guarding the secrets of the melting pot. Test for a
Îlife togetherâ, ask appropriate questions. This is the way to control the
ingredients of a melting pot. If they canât afford the cool mil to buy
(un)naturalization we send them away. How alien? How unnatural? How alien. How
unnatural.
At lunch with my fatherâs cousin Frank we were discussing the city we
live in. He loves this place and I think itâs a shit hole. He finds the city a
very humbling experience because thereâs always someone within a few blocks
who is better at what youâre best at or has more or better of what you value
most (whether thatâs a beach house or a relationship with oneâs son). He
also spoke about how everything is somewhere in this city, anything you want or
want to do is here somewhere and you can get it at pretty much any time of day,
any time of the year. I told him that I canât stand this city because the
sinister side to every positive thing is overwhelmingly evident. Yes, one can go
out and buy band aids at 3AM on Tuesday but practically speaking thereâs a the
very real possibility that you may be mugged. Upon hearing this he told me the
following four stories:
A friend of his was entering his apartment when he felt a cold metallic
object on his neck and a voice said, ãTurn around 180 degrees very slowly.ä
After doing this he saw a young man, perhaps nineteen, holding a very large
knife, cocked back next to his own ear in that famous Psycho pose.
ãVery slowly remove your watch and give it to me,ä said the man with the
knife. That being done he then said, ãVery slowly remove your wallet from your
back pocket and give it to me.ä The man with the knife was fumbling a bit as
he tried to look through the wallet with one hand and hold the knife up in the
other so the other man said, ãLook, Iâm not going to do anything, thereâs
$18 bucks in the wallet, itâs yours, but would you please put the knife
away?ä The mugger put away the knife and began to apologize for having to mug
him. Frankâs friend then said, ãThatâs quite all right....The money in the
wallet is yours but every thing else in the wallet is useless to you and a big
pain for me to replace so could you give the wallet back to me?ä The mugger
handed back the wallet while saying things like, ãIâm really sorry for doing
this but I have to.ä Frankâs friend replied, ãThatâs ok, really no
problem....But that watch, itâs a Timex, I bought it for $19.95, if you bring
it to a pawn shop you may get $4 for it. But Iâll have to drop another $20 to
replace it. So Iâm going to be out $38 bucks total. Could you see your way to
give it back to me?ä The mugger handed back the watch again apologizing for
mugging him. The other man responded, ãItâs really no problem, youâve been
very fair to me.ä He stuck out his hand, the mugger shook it and left.
Frank himself had two experiences that he shared. Around 11:30 PM one
night he left his apartment to get the early edition of next morningâs paper.
On his way he encountered a large man in a long trench coat with his hands in
his pockets as if he were armed. This man said, ãGive me your wallet.ä Frank
replied, ãWhat are you fucking crazy?ä and walked on.
Another time he was walking late at night again when he saw four young
African-American girls, maybe around eighteen, surrounding an elderly Latino
woman. He went up to the group and asked, ãWhatâs going on here?ä One of
the girls replied, ãWeâre just telling this woman that the side walk is for
blacks and everyone else has to walk in the street. That includes you.ä
ãDonât be fucking assholes,ä he replied, ãIâm giving you three seconds
to get out of here, one. . .two. . .three.ä With ãthreeä he back-handed
the nearest girl and they all ran away terrified. He walked the very scared yet
appreciative elderly woman home.
The final story involved his son. One time, he allowed his very
independent ten year old son, Joshua, to ride the train alone from Frankâs
summer home on Fire Island to Brooklyn (where Joshua was staying for the night
with a friend). Joshua had ridden the train alone many times and knew the way.
His friendâs mother was going to wait for him at the train station in
Brooklyn. A couple of hours after he would have arrived Frank called the house
to check on him. He had arrived safely but said something very strange had
happened on the train. At one of the stops a man got on and sat down beside him.
A minute later this man put his hand on Joshuaâs thigh. Joshua said, ãPlease
take your hand awayä and the man did. A minute later the man put his hand back
on Joshuaâs thigh. Joshua, more forcefully this time said, ãTake your hand
away.ä Then he moved over a seat and put his bag on the seat between them and
said, ãIf you bother me again Iâll scream and embarrass you.ä The man got
up and walked away.
Frank attributed all of these instances to a certain urban instinct that
one has from growing up in the city. Clearly, I lack such instinct.