Chapter 11: The Butcher At The Corner
The butcher at the corner was always trying to teach my grandfather new words in Italian. My grandfather was of Irish and German descent, but he always took the time to try and learn a few words so the next time he came into the shop, he could greet ‘Nick’ in a few words from his native tongue. Nick in turned learned a few Irish limericks from my grandfather, interesting to be sure, but probably not stories he could tell around the dinner table at home.
Every time my grandfather entered the shop, he would be greeted with: “Buongiorno Senior Danny,” and my grandfather would respond: “Top A The Mornin To Ya Senior Nicola.” These two men formed a bond over many years that transcended any language barrier or separation of geography based on birth. You could hear it in the laughter they shared, and see it in the mutual respect they held for each other in their eyes.
My grandfather wanted to be able to share some culture with Nick, not because he was so interested in learning Italian, but because he was very interested in getting to know Nick. They became the best of friends over forty years and attended all family functions together. As a duet, they often sang both Irish and Italian folksongs after a few ‘pints,’ or several glasses of the home made wine Nick made in his basement.
What they shared was special, and the superficial differences between them made it even more so. The important thing is that they shared. They shared a belief in their religion, their country, and in each other, that transcended any difference that you might notice from the outside. Together, they became bigger than either could be alone. They knew this instinctively and made every effort to embrace these surface differences and make them their own. My grandfather would often lecture me on Italian food and history, telling me, that this or that was so, because he had heard it from Nick.
In Their Laughter They Became One
The butcher at the corner, and my grandfather, figured out one of the great secrets of life, and that is that we’re only different in what we admit to. If the same admission is that we’re fundamentally the same, we can travel down the road of sharing and community — basic tenets that America was founded upon almost 250 years ago.
To reach out, we first have to let go. We need to abandon the notion that only our way is best, and move away from the bias and prejudices that build fences among us. Only then will we realize that the other person is waiting for our acceptance to become something together that we could never be alone. Imagine this magnified over 300 million people. That’s the way it used to be in our country, and to be truly great, that’s the way it will have to be again.
To Reach Out, We First Have To Let Go
Chapter 12: ‘All Roads lead To Rome’
Those who left home to serve their country, or to attend school, learned a magical lesson. In the service, you learned that even though the guy in the bunk next to you may have been from Oklahoma, and you from New York, the ‘apparent and surface’ differences between you only magnified your attempt to get closer to each other. In almost no time at all, you discovered that the big and fundamental things between you were the same.
His parents had raised him to respect his elders, our flag, God, and country, just as our parents had us. Even though his small town in Oklahoma made have had a population of 207, and our town over 200,000, the lessons we had learned growing up transcended any census figure or geographical location. We both had grown up in America, and whether big town or small village, cold northern climate or western panhandle, the things we valued were the core beliefs we shared.
Our Roads Really Did Lead To Rome
The Rome I am speaking of metaphorically is the common path we were all on. It was taking us to a better place where people of like mind worked together and sometimes died defending the things they believed in and the freedom that allowed those things to be so. We didn’t agree in some sort of ‘stepford’ way. We agreed because we learned these lessons of correct behavior when we were very young. They were lessons that stood the test of time and felt right, not only when written down, but inside our hearts and minds as we were encouraged to do the right thing and to let ‘our conscience be our guide.’
Our ‘Rome’ was a shared ‘pursuit of happiness’ built into the American Dream, that every kid grew up seeking, and every adult treasured more than anything else. It was the shared understanding that America was more than our buildings and our Declaration Of Independence. America was our history, a history of freedom, paid for and insured by those willing to die for it. Those who sacrificed led the way and have preserved our freedom for over 250 years. It’s been said that there are no atheists in foxholes and I believe that’s true. There are very few unpatriotic non-believers when we go through hardship and ultimately prevail together. The reason we do it together is because, as a group, we have always believed and agreed upon its core value.
Is That Still The Case Today?
During my junior year at college, one of my roommates, in the apartment we rented, was a black fellow named Tom from Newark New Jersey. Tom had grown up in the poorest of inner-city neighborhoods, but through perseverance, diligence, and the support of a strong mother, he made it through high school with good grades and found his way to a good university. He was also a good athlete.
Tom couldn’t live the American Dream, like many of us, while he was young. He had to wait until later, when he had his degree, and could go back and help his mother and brothers better their conditions at home. Tom was able to do this because his mother never abandoned hope or her belief in him. Mrs. Scott believed in the fundamental goodness of America. Even though her day in and day out life as a domestic worker was a challenge, she never gave up the hope that her children would do better. America, up until the 1970’s, was a nation where children always did better than their parents, but that was an America that had a shared value system.
The first two weeks Tom and I lived together there were many questions, as we prodded each other trying to find out how different we really were. I was surprised and pleased to find out that Tom shared most of the values I had, and in many cases felt even stronger about them than me. We had had the same strong parenting and watched the same T.V. shows. Tom’s heroes were the same as mine, and we were both excited to find out that Willie May’s was our favorite baseball player. In those first two weeks, Tom stopped being that kid from the urban ghetto and became a trusted friend. And one who almost forty years later has become a treasure in my life.
I asked Tom one day what it must have been like walking home from school in Newark and playing outside on his block. Tom explained to me what he heard from his mother, Esther, every night at the dinner table. Mrs. Scott would tell her three boys that “The right thing is not dependant on who does it, being right is everyone’s duty and obligation. Just because someone chooses not to do the right thing doesn’t change what they should have done.” Tom’s mother constantly reinforced to her sons that doing the right thing is the right thing to do for its own sake. These are brave and insightful words from a woman whose physical and emotional playing field was not level … and certainly not fair.
She Believed In The Principles Of Right And Wrong In Spite Of Her Living Conditions
Much of America over the past 200 years has been like that. Too many have struggled with adversity while still believing in the future and the power of positive change. This has been made possible by the strong tenets of their faith and their belief in each other.
Tom’s mother also taught him to never dwell on the negative. He was, and is, one of the most positive people I have ever known and has been a shining example to my children that anything in life is possible. Tom didn’t know his father. He had abandoned the family when Tom was four but hadn’t been around much even during those first four years. Instead of using this as a crutch, or excuse, Tom became the man of the house and developed a sense of responsibility far in advance of his age. He became the only ‘father figure’ his two younger brothers would even know.
Tom told me these things, and more, on the way to a football game in Rhode Island one weekend in 1969. Because of the way we felt about each other, his story became part of my story. I taught Tom to surf in Ocean City New Jersey the next summer, and I like to believe that part of myself became part of him. I know I wanted it to be that way, and he has told me in so many words that he felt that way too. I remember vividly how my parents reacted to first meeting Tom when I brought him home for a Christmas visit in 1969.
Both of my parents had grown up in poor neighborhoods during the ‘Great Depression’ and had tears in their eyes as Tom shared what it had been like growing up in Newark, in a two-room apartment, with a single parent. My Mom and Dad loved him right away. Not because he had been poor and unfortunate, but just the opposite, because he was so rich in spirit. My Dad and Tom became so close, as the years went on, that my Dad ended up becoming the father that Tom never had. My father had grown up in a tough white ghetto, in the Kensington section of Philadelphia, and in many ways was more like Tom than me. There’s something about true poverty that crosses all color lines.
Tom’s Road To Rome had more bumps and potholes in it than mine did, but we were pointed squarely in the same direction. We both knew that in the ways we looked different, society would often focus on that. We also knew that because of our shared belief in what was possible, and in each other, we could change that perception. By coming together as friends, we created something stronger than any bigotry or bias that would try to take that friendship away.
By looking past our superficial and surface differences, we found what was real in each other and reveled in the things we both held dear. It was upon these things we shared that we built a lifelong friendship, one that shared the even bigger dream of our generation for a better world. One of the first things Tom and I shared was our music. Our favorite artists were the great ‘Soul’ groups coming out of Detroit like the Temptations and the Miracles. The power of music never ceases to amaze in the way it transcends division and separation, drawing the listener in to something higher and more cerebral. Unfortunately, the powerful messages of love and togetherness, that these groups sang about, has been replaced by violent and negative ‘rap’ artists who glorify and give credence to the negativity of the streets in our inner city’s.
As a result of drug infestation, and the violence that accompanies it, the ability for a young man like Tom to travel the positive road to Rome has been made much more difficult. Because we have not been able to agree on basic fairness issues, our inner cities have become denizens of the profane and brutal elements of our society, often feeding off themselves in a downward spiral of poverty and despair. Every day, millions of kids are faced with the agonizing decision between doing the right thing or taking the easier and misleading road of drug pushing and violent street gang involvement.
Once we lose these young people to the world of drugs and gangs, it is almost impossible to ever get them back. Shining examples like Tom only make a small impact when he revisits his neighborhood and tries to work with the youth center where he grew up. We need to put programs, and people, in place to spread and reinforce the messages of optimism, education, and a better life to these kids who, through no fault of their own, may never hear it any other way. The road out of their neighborhood can lead to Rome also — if we can remove the barriers and roadblocks that obscure their view.
The athletes who ‘escape’ the ghetto are few and far between and put a lace curtain on the overpowering problems that they are fortunate enough to leave behind. Their success often leaves a false impression on the kids still living there, thinking that they too will grow up to be Michael Jordan or Deion Sanders. Is it possible … yes, but only for the very, very few. What about all the others that get left behind? The lace curtain of false opportunity slowly closes, as these children become dropouts, and then wards of society, either on public welfare roles, or as inmates of an overburdened prison system.
Tom went on to become a Doctor of Sports Medicine. In addition to his medical practice, Tom has a counseling service where he advises young college athletes. He reminds them that the ‘riches’ of pro sports happen only to the very few, and that the real riches of their athletic ability lie in the education that that ability has provided them.
Through our time together, Tom and I discovered that our dreams were really the same. The dream of maximizing our full potential, and having the opportunity to raise a family and provide and teach those same dreams to our children, happened for both of us. Tom paid a much higher price for his dreams, and as a result, they mean even more to him.
The possibility of two young men, coming together as Tom and I did and sharing the dream of America, gets tougher every year. There are more obstacles in the way. The sins of our fathers and grandfathers should not continue to be passed on, but the dreams that they collectively fought and died for should be.
Someone once said: “Show me a man without a dream, and I will show you no man at all.” One of the great tragedies of the new millennium is that we have stolen these dreams from our young people. In destroying the roads that could transport them from where they are, to where they need to be, we commit cultural genocide. A sin for which no punishment may ever be enough. I heard a ‘Rap’ artist once say: “I sing about the streets, but I’m no longer from the streets.” It’s an admission that he is making a lucrative living off the poverty and depression of those who unlike him can’t get out. It seems, in many cases, that the dream of today is to shatter what’s left of the dream of others.
To change the way things are, we need to ‘share’ in not only the goodness that we all seek in our hearts, but in the nightmare of those who cannot dream the dream. We now know that welfare doesn’t work … opportunity does! The old saying that ‘it’s better to teach a man to fish than to feed a man a fish’ is as true in our nation’s poorest neighborhoods as in any segment of society.
Most of my generation, despite the popular impressions of Woodstock etc., knew drugs were wrong, and most of us avoided them. Even the few that used ‘recreational’ drugs during the 1960’s moved past them as they evolved into adulthood with families and careers. Most users were experimental … quickly in and then quickly out.
Drugs today are the main economic disincentive of the black ghetto, although they appear the opposite to the young generation living there. They exact a much bigger cost from their participants than any temporary financial gain they pretend to offer. They create a culture that drives their users away from real opportunity, trading a fantasy future based on lies and corruption for one that has the true freedom and change that they so desperately need. In most cases, it is the future itself that is stolen from these neighborhoods, to be replaced with a violent, and often life ending consequence, for those who are conditioned to feel that they have nothing left to lose.
The only thing necessary to reopen the economic, and cultural Road To Rome, is to change the minds of the younger people living there. This will only be possible when real opportunity is presented early, with clear cut instructions showing how this will lead to a better and happier life.
If all roads lead to Rome … How Many Esthers Are There To Lead the Way?