There is an elderly man who I know in Hoots that I always enjoy talking to. He’s a dapper fellow, always wearing a straw fedora and I’ve never seen him without a library book in his hand. To say he always looks neat and well dressed is an understatement. He doesn’t drive anymore so you see him walking, recently with a cane, around the downtown area. I’ve taken him to his home on a couple of occasions when the heat looked to be too much for him. Although I don’t know his age, I’m thinking he is in his mid-eighties.
He asked me last night if I remembered Herbert Hoover. I told him yes.
“George Bush is no different than Herbert Hoover,” he said. “I was a kid during the depression and I want you to know, we are heading down this path again.”
I told him that I really didn’t remember that much about Hoover, which I owned. He told me to go get a book. Now if you knew this man, he has the mouth of a sailor coming out of this tidy package of an older person. I must tell you, it shocks me each and every time when he comes out with an expletive.
“They are trying to scare us,” he said with a few choice words added in for effect. “This damned government keeps trying to use religion and gays and immigrants to scare the bejezus out of regular folks who aren’t paying attention to the fact that we are at war and our economy is in the shitter. It isn’t until times like this that people start noticing that their way of life is impacted by bad decisions in Washington.”
I nodded. He was on a roll.
“If that gotdamn John Tanner votes for this bailout,” he said angrily. “I swear I’ll personally give him a piece of my mind. He’s eating and will continue to eat. But some of these folks won’t and that’s what they are forgetting. It’s not for us to pay for Wall Street. Hell, we can barely pay for the recent tax increases and electricity hikes around here.”
I agreed once again.
“Whoever wins president will be blamed for the mistakes and greed of that idiot Bush,” he said. “And that’s all I have to say.”
And he didn’t say another word about it, sticking to his guns.
I watched him leave about 30 minutes later, his cane in one hand and a library book in the other. He walked out into the night.
You never know unless you listen to what other people say and how they perceive things. Mr. J (as I call him) is an angry American and he sees the sins of the past catching up to the present.
Sometimes my chest tightens us and I wonder what’s next, because, although I’m a glass half-full kind of woman, I can’t help believe that it’s only going to get worse until it gets better.