RUDIMENTS, pt. 305
Making Cars
The strange little sort of
personal relativity we each
are granted always seems
to me like part of the gift
of the life we are given.
In my own case, one special
thing pops out immediately.
Around about 1972 or so, the
phone company, always
referred to as Ma Bell, was
all of a sudden under attack
for monopolistic tendencies,
etc. By Congressional edict
it was soon enough broken up
and small little offshoots then
were everywhere, for better or
worse. Bell South; Nynex (New
York/New England Exchange),
and such. Where before the idea
of 'telephone' was something
you never even had to think
about, now it began becoming
a task to consider your 'service'
and its connectibility. At that
time, in Pennsylvania, we had
a chatty 'party line' by which,
often, if you picked up the
phone there would be another
conversation going on - 6 or 8
farm families shared the line -
and you had to wait for an
opening, and, as well, you sort
of had to realize that, at any
time, any of these other people
could be listening in. Each house,
as I recall, had its own number of
'rings' to signal who it was for,
and you had to wait out the ring
cycle to see how many it had been.
Rather odd all around.
-
Anyway, we never had much
need for the phone, nor anyone
out there to call, so none of
that mattered. What did strike
me, and what stays with me, was
later, in Elmira, getting a more
regular, in-town phone service,
the installer guy came by - with
all his million wires and snippers
and clamps and all that stuff you
never see anymore - and started
explaining the phone world to me.
He said, as a 'customer,' you
never 'own' your phone. (Later
they did offer means to buy your
own phone). He said the phones
remain property of the service
provider (corporate-speak for
'phone-company') and they do
not travel with you. Meaning
that when we move again, the
phone again stays, until the
new hook-up gets service. I guess
it's a simple matter, or was, but
by today's standards it's bizarre.
And by the standards of back then,
it was more, 'who cares and who'd
want this thing anyway.' That's
how oddly different everything
now is, with people having their
phones and stuff as if it all was
a toothbrush or a hair-comb.
The 'relative to my life' factor
has changed, I guess, in the
same way as a fax or a stove
or even a wristwatch has
changed. I'm still in my old
groove - without a phone, no
TV, wearing a wristwatch and
using a plain old stove.
-
So, for these and other reasons, I
formulated my own life as being
out of the loop of most others. To
me, something almost must be
tangible to be real. Notwithstanding
the fact, of course, that all of this
writing is done on laptop and
computer - but that's about as
technical and ephemeral as I ever
get. 8 or 10 years back I had a
train friend from India - talk
about the relativeness of things -
who would go on always telling
me of, in his home town precinct
back in India, people would walk
miles, on lone, dusty roads, to
reach the computer stations -
most happily too - trekking miles
for the crossroads where the local
or national government had set up
Internet stations and plug ins, etc.,
for what we know I guess call WIFI
hotspots and all. Once there, he
said, they'd often wait hours for
their turn at access - with people
having set-up drink stands, food
tables, etc. And he said, as well,
that previous to all that there used
to be the same thing set up for
Notaries, tax and legal people,
and even 'letter writers' who for
a fee would write and post whatever
communication you were wishing
to send to relatives, kin or others
far away, overseas, or resettled in
distant lands. It was all very normal
and ordinary to him. His biggest
thrill, in fact, on these train rides,
was the soon to be 'new' arrival of
3G service, which idea thrilled him,
as well as the fact that he could
actually get a train seat. He
contrasted that with train service
in India, which was always poorly
scheduled, involved erratic travel
over long, dusty distances, and -
most importantly to him - involved
such crowded travel conditions that
people were literally stuffed into
trains and, even more extraordinary,
and often causing fatalities, people
simply clung to the outsides and
tops of over-crowded trains.
-
He said if I'd never experienced it
I'd never understand it. In so many
ways that's a very grand and true
statement, and it probably exists
as the reason for so many of the
occurrences of today's world. How
else to account for the so-many
conflicts which afflict us
everywhere? And how to explain
to others that which you yourself
cannot understand about them, nor
they about you? That's what makes
the world so cool. In 1955. by
contrast, as 5-year olds we were
assumed to be all the same and
shunted off, as one indeterminate
wedge, to our new school and
expected to stay that way. Like
the old party line; a bunch of
jabber. We owned nothing, and
our parents and teachers could
take any of it away at will - and
it was a complete monopoly, the
only service available, and, yes,
everyone adult walked around
with their own versions and
selections of the pliers, wires,
clips and pincers to make all
this equipment connected and
functional. Or so we were told.
The problem was, unbeknownst
to them the fulcrum and the pivot
were always changing and we
weren't much enjoying the ride -
whip, seesaw, or whirligig or
whatever sort it all was.
-
I never knew what people were
meaning to get across to me. I
liked some adults and disliked
others. I followed instructions
and orders when it was to my
liking, and other times I did not.
There was often a real distaste
in the air for the things I had to
do. At other times, I'd just get
fascinated by things : in the
rear of the Kindergarten
classroom, for instance, was
what they called the cloakroom.
It wasn't really a room at all,
just a place for (what they called)
galoshes and raingear. This words
also fascinated me. BUT, the real
kicker, for which I was speechless, and
now which I see too, relativisitcally,
as miraculous and truly symbolic
of all they ever tried teaching, was
how, by tugging on and opening
ONE door, ALL the doors, of that
'cloakroom,' as interconnected, opened
as one. I wish they had just told us
that then - that such was what
they were after. That would have
been such a key bit of information
in learning what they wanted from
us and for us. And ours to keep!
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