8931.THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW, Pt. 257

257. HELLO ME!

I had plenty of tough

times. One of the

toughest always

seemed to be getting

up the courage to

say what I really

felt. That doesn't

sound like much  -

but it actually is,

or was; especially,

for someone brought

up as I had been.

Subservient, taught

to be quiet, not speak

up, have few opinions

and, certainly, not

speak up with them.

I do want to say - I could

understand all that  -

and did. The tier of

society I was raised

at was one of

inconsequential people,

ineffective reciprocators.

It took a long time,

but in a bit I did realize

that remaining quiet

was done at my own

expense  -  because,

by that, people just

assume you're with

them. I wasn't; and I'd

gotten pretty disgusted

over time too. Think

back, to youth, and

what is that you

remember most

vividly? Yes, the

loudmouths, the

opinionated ones,

the bombastic lunkheads

who spoke out of turn

and just said what was

on their minds. I suppose

it just comes down to

having been taught to

remain inconspicuous.

But inconspicuous never

raised a tyger, tyger,

burning bright.

-

My first 'big' city  -

outside of a sixth grade

bus trip to NYC to view

the movie 'Ben Hur,' was
Philadelphia. That NYC
Ben Hur trip, be the way

was a real bust of a movie; 
bombastic and boring

as well, except for that

stupid chariot race,

which we were almost

forced to 'like' as boys.

The rest of it all was a

long, drawn-out costume

shadow-play of really

dumb, squat-little NYC

actor types, or obvious

Jewish voice-over actor

types, dressed in togas

and pretending to be

witty-one-liner Romans.

Olive-leaf crowns,

swords and massive

medals, and huge

leather belts, with

sandals. By today's

standards, so

ridiculously gay as

to be laughable.

We made the best

of it anyway, in

that ornate palace

of a cinema. The

usual points of

view and jokes,

all trotted out.

'Why do they wear

togas?' Answer: 'So

they could fart freely;

get it? To Gas!' Yes,

I was the champ of

all that impish stuff.

Fart freely, indeed.

-

Anyway, in the seminary,

a few times, we'd get

to Philadelphia.

Pretty much for

the same reason  -

about 1964 there had

begun a series of really

cloying 'Catholic'

religious movies, or

what we were told

were, in any case.

'Becket', and 'The

Greatest Story Ever

Told,' crud like that.

Really itemized and

by-the-book 'get your

religion straight,' fact

and figure movies

all dramatized and

made pretty. One of

them even had this

Max Van Sydow

guy, a Swedish actor

or something, portraying

'Christ' with these

beautiful blue eyes.

Everyone swooned.

We'd get dragged to

these, four or five or

five of us at a time,

by whichever 'priest

was going as chaperone

or whatever it was called  -

his favorite boys. If you

knew what that meant, you

were already in trouble.

But getting past all that,

being out   -  and allowed

to walk around  -   to

whatever the theater

was here or there,

(I forget all these

incidental things, and

besides I didn't in any

way 'know' the city),

it represented seeing

some other world

entirely. How a person

was supposed to live

a cloistered existence

like that, as we were,

amidst nothing more

than a bunch of geeky

boys and geeky men,

was beyond me  - but

in Philadelphia, even

for those few times,

I made sure to observe

and note and take it all

in. Making sure to

myself : 'Yes! Another

planet really does exist.'

Even to this day, when

I get to Philadelphia my

old-boy heart soars as I

remember these things.

The city and the approach

to it was constantly

fascinating. Most of that

is long gone now, but

I can still picture the

approach off the Walt

Whitman Bridge, from

whatever town that is

on the Jersey side, and

all those riverside

factories and junkyards

and oil-storage tanks

and refineries. And

then the slow, dark

entry into this tough,

gritty, second-tier

big, American city.

I was lost, and it

was all gold. I don't

remember the people

as much as the places.

-

Most of my life, even

back then, was in my

mind. All that usual

crazy stuff  -  not weird

or perverted, just I think

the usual heroic, adolescent

balloon-thinking. When I

later read Carl Jung,

('Memories, Dreams, and

Reflections'  - grand book),

about all that archetype

stuff, I knew I was off

and running : this was

life-creation of a

psychological proportion,

by subliminal and creative

subversion. I had found

my own key! There were

no limitations, nor any

forbidden aspects any

longer to whatever I

could do  -  choose to

do  -  dream to do!

I'd instantly become

my own self-help book! 

Now I just had to find a 

way to 'speak up' for

myself and this, much 

greater, new-found

situation.