1. Bernie is not a very good neighbor. Actually, he is a bad one. And he lives in two different neighborhoods, where he is equally bad at both places. He lives in one home that he alone owns. He is also a part time owner of another home in the other neighborhood. His ex-wife lives there but because he pays half the mortgage and home maintenance, including half the household expenses, his ex tolerates the whole arrangement. And as you shall see, Bernie has good reasons to straddle two homes.
Bernie has this habit of borrowing tools and other items from his neighbors and conveniently forgets to return them. Both subdivisions are plagued equally by this man who a long time ago declared himself free of any qualms or even a teeny-tiny bit of conscience. If the neighbors don't ask for the items back after three months or so, he considers those his.
Bernie also has the resourcefulness of the top natural scavenger. On a scale of 1-10 he is right there at 7.5, where the Andean condor and Griffon vulture are at 10. You see, he has in his calendar the one day a month when residents in upscale neighborhoods put on the curb for pick up any discarded items that are not classified trash or garbage, from old furniture to golf clubs and and sports equipment, luggage, etc. He has those days on his schedule where he goes around starting at mid morning till mid afternoon on those specified days. He would pick up stuff that he'd judged to be either in good shape (though old or dated) or still serviceable or reparable. Upscale neighborhoods have plenty of those. Bernie is not doing anything illegal and when he picks the items up nobody really mind or even care. He had become a frequent visitor to these neighborhoods that often the residents there would rate the items they were about to throw away according to what this unknown man would consider worthy. They'd joke among themselves on the likelihood (scale 1-10) the items they put up would be picked up by Bernie. That is the "disposable society" that America is sometimes known for.
Also on Bernie's calendar are the two special days a year. Twice a year at each subdivision he holds a garage sale. That would be four times total (at six months interval, twice at his own subdivision and twice at his ex-wife's). There the scavenged items would be laid out on the front yard like obedient subjects held in court by Bernie whose aim is to dispatch them one by one to bargain hunters. Bernie would also include items he borrowed from neighbors as part of the merchandise. There is one particular detail that Bernie is extremely careful with - he makes sure that the "borrowed" items from one neighborhood are sold only at the other and vice-versa. He keeps a good log to avoid that one mishap - a neighbor spotting his tool or what-not on sale at Bernie's garage extravaganza.
Three months ago a new neighbor moved in to a home just four houses down from Bernie's. He went over to introduce himself and offered to help the new resident unload. Bernie has one motive that is farthest away from altruism. He merely wants to see what he can catalog as potentially borrow-able from this new neighbor. The new neighbor introduced himself as Cornelius and seemed to prefer to be called that way. Three weeks after that Bernie was calling him Cory and Cornelius didn't seem to mind. By the fourth week Bernie had borrowed a couple of items, one of which was a unique looking ice pick. It caught Bernie's eyes because not only was it something he had never seen before but the handle was intricately ornate with the Tiffany look on it. Bernie is not shy about borrowing and although he'd been rebuffed many times in the past by wiser neighbors, which carried little effect on him, he was clearly surprised at how Cory so willingly let him borrow the ice pick.
Bernie had no intention of using the borrowed item. It went straight to one of the cabinet drawers in the kitchen.
That was three months ago and today he is holding his bi-annual garage sale at his ex-wife's front yard. He always makes sure he does it on a pleasant day for a guaranteed traffic. People would come from all over and among them are "professional" bargain hunters. Then there are those who just drops in on a whim. One such couple was Alice and Joe. It was Alice's idea to stop. This was Joe's day off and they were actually on their way to lunch. Joe initially wanted to stay in the car and wait until Alice was through rummaging but in the last second he reluctantly got out and passed the time looking at what he believes are other people's junk.
One thing caught Joe's eyes almost immediately at the first table. It was Cory's ice pick. He picked it up, look at it closely, at which time Bernie came over and did his sales pitch. "That had been my favorite for years since I bought it but I thought someone, like you, will get to enjoy it as well. For twenty bucks, that's really a good deal". Bernie was flawless. Joe said he'd like to call his buddy and took out his cell phone from his pocket. At which time Bernie retreated to give Joe some space. He's thinking a good sale coming up. Joe held on to the ice pick and continued to look around. Bernie was thinking this was a sure sale.
Twenty minutes later an unmarked police car parked a few yards away. Two detectives got out, shook hands with Joe and all three stepped towards Bernie. Joe, like the other two cops, was a homicide detective. Joe called them because he was off-duty and he needed them to make sure all three of them were there to listen to what Bernie had to say.
Joe said, "Sir, you do know this could be a stolen item? Are you sure you own this from way back when, as you said".
Bernie always had a quick wit, "Yeah, but surely hundreds of this were sold over time. Why pick on mine?"
"You are sure you've had this for years?"
"Absolutely! Why would I lie about one lousy ice pick".
"So you don't mind if we have this checked out?"
"Not at all, but you'll have to give me twenty bucks as deposit." Bernie was quick again.
One of the detectives took out a twenty from his wallet. The other produced an evidence plastic envelope. Sealed it and let Bernie sign on the flap.
One week later Bernie was arrested for the murder of a wealthy stock broker six months ago. An ice pick was used when the victim apparently resisted during a robbery at his home. The stock broker owned a very rare ice pick that was among his collectibles that was missing. The intricate design was well documented in photographs of his private catalog. The ice pick from Bernie's yard sale may have been washed but not so thoroughly, apparently, because some almost microscopic specks of dried blood were trapped in the folds of the crevices of the ornate handle. The blood had the DNA of the victim.
Bernie quickly changed his story and switched the blame on Cornelius, his new neighbor. Cornelius was nowhere to be found. He abandoned his new home and an APB (All points bulletin) was issued for his arrest and a manhunt begun.
Bernie who spent days in jail was ultimately cleared. Cornelius, a career robber, as it turned out, remained at large. The idea that he's still out there made Bernie a virtual recluse, imprisoned in his own home, double locking his doors on days and barricading it at night, sleeping as little as possible.
The Moral of the story: (1) Return what you borrow; (2) Never sell to others what you borrow from your neighbors. (3) Karma - according to adherents of the philosophy - can be cumulative. (4) Do not denigrate garage sales or flea markets - sometimes there are hidden treasures there.
Speaking of flea markets I had personally found quality hand tools there that were not only rewarding to restore, they are still very much in use in my wood working shop. These things, inanimate objects that they are, have stories to tell. Filling those blanks, or to imagine stories around them may for some open a different view of America.
Speaking of stories, there is another one.
2. Chris came back after a three year stint during the Iraq war a broken man. Almost each passing day was a slow downward spiral into an abyss he was now hopelessly unable to reverse. One day he resolved to get out of it the only way he knew how. He was going to do it that evening. His life had been reduced to two months behind in rent for an empty unkempt apartment where the only thing of value left are his old 101st Airborne uniform and a 9 mm cal. pistol similar to the side arm he had during the war. And a handful of ammo. He was going to use just one of them later that evening.
He got out of bed at the usual late morning of between ten and eleven and often with very little ambition to do anything, when the days would go by aimlessly. But today he had a purpose. He will go out, walk around the neighborhood, have one final look. Not that there was much to look at. He will come by the shelter where he'll get lunch and say goodbye to the folks who every day dutifully served him and others like him. They are his last remaining contact in a world that had forgotten him. Abandoned him, in his mind.
He was surprised that he had accomplished what he planned for and was now walking back slowly, block by block, to his apartment. He might take a nap, wake up by sunset, and it shall be the end. He played that in his mind, over and over, making note of the sunset and the metaphor it represented in the coming night.
Just two blocks away from his apartment at an intersection by the curb was a white dog standing motionless. Its white coat caked with mud, its right ear was scarred and there was a frayed dog collar around its neck . They locked eyes. Chris looking down at the dog that was looking up at him. When he stooped down to pat the dog it remained motionless then licked his hand. Chris then walked away in the direction of his apartment. The dog followed him. He looked back and for some reason he felt compelled to encourage the dog to follow him.
The dog had to be hungry. When he got to the apartment he knocked at his downstairs neighbor's apartment whom he knew has a dog. He was going to see if she can spare some dog food. The lady knew him and she was happy to give the dog some in a dish and water in another. While the dog was eating their conversation led to what he was going to do with the stray. The lady suggested that he take it to the animal shelter that was actually a short walking distance from the apartment. It's possible the dog's owner may have registered the dog in the lost section. She gave him a spare leash for the dog and off the two went when the dog finished.
When Chris got there a young staffer told him there was nothing filed for this particular dog. She can take the dog but in a few days if there is no claimant the dog will be euthanized. The staffer now introduced herself . Her name is Claire. Claire said, "I think the dog likes you. Why don't you keep him? You know he has a name on its collar. Tracer."
Claire, before Chris could respond, asked, "If you have to go to work, you can leave him here and pick him up after work." When Chris answered that he didn't have a job, Claire asked him if he wanted to work at the shelter. He seemed to be good with dogs. "There are a lot of them to take care of here and the shelter does have a need for another person". Claire added.
That was ten years ago. Chris just had his ten-year anniversary with the shelter. He had been a model employee. Claire is now the Director of the shelter, married to a policeman, and they now have two kids, and Chris had since been a regular Thanksgiving dinner guest at Claire's growing family that has now two dogs of their own. Tracer passed away three years ago but Chris has another rescue dog that is with him while at work at the shelter and goes home with him each night to a better apartment. Chris also volunteers his weekends serving meals at the very same place that used to serve him.
Chris did get off the downward spiral road but through an entirely unexpected but altogether beatific way.
The Moral of the story: Everything and everybody has a story - the dog, the downstairs neighbor, Claire and most of all - Chris. We should all be mindful of these stories. They're all around us.
These stories I did imagine. The real ones out there could be more profoundly real.
Three months ago a new neighbor moved in to a home just four houses down from Bernie's. He went over to introduce himself and offered to help the new resident unload. Bernie has one motive that is farthest away from altruism. He merely wants to see what he can catalog as potentially borrow-able from this new neighbor. The new neighbor introduced himself as Cornelius and seemed to prefer to be called that way. Three weeks after that Bernie was calling him Cory and Cornelius didn't seem to mind. By the fourth week Bernie had borrowed a couple of items, one of which was a unique looking ice pick. It caught Bernie's eyes because not only was it something he had never seen before but the handle was intricately ornate with the Tiffany look on it. Bernie is not shy about borrowing and although he'd been rebuffed many times in the past by wiser neighbors, which carried little effect on him, he was clearly surprised at how Cory so willingly let him borrow the ice pick.
Bernie had no intention of using the borrowed item. It went straight to one of the cabinet drawers in the kitchen.
That was three months ago and today he is holding his bi-annual garage sale at his ex-wife's front yard. He always makes sure he does it on a pleasant day for a guaranteed traffic. People would come from all over and among them are "professional" bargain hunters. Then there are those who just drops in on a whim. One such couple was Alice and Joe. It was Alice's idea to stop. This was Joe's day off and they were actually on their way to lunch. Joe initially wanted to stay in the car and wait until Alice was through rummaging but in the last second he reluctantly got out and passed the time looking at what he believes are other people's junk.
One thing caught Joe's eyes almost immediately at the first table. It was Cory's ice pick. He picked it up, look at it closely, at which time Bernie came over and did his sales pitch. "That had been my favorite for years since I bought it but I thought someone, like you, will get to enjoy it as well. For twenty bucks, that's really a good deal". Bernie was flawless. Joe said he'd like to call his buddy and took out his cell phone from his pocket. At which time Bernie retreated to give Joe some space. He's thinking a good sale coming up. Joe held on to the ice pick and continued to look around. Bernie was thinking this was a sure sale.
Twenty minutes later an unmarked police car parked a few yards away. Two detectives got out, shook hands with Joe and all three stepped towards Bernie. Joe, like the other two cops, was a homicide detective. Joe called them because he was off-duty and he needed them to make sure all three of them were there to listen to what Bernie had to say.
Joe said, "Sir, you do know this could be a stolen item? Are you sure you own this from way back when, as you said".
Bernie always had a quick wit, "Yeah, but surely hundreds of this were sold over time. Why pick on mine?"
"You are sure you've had this for years?"
"Absolutely! Why would I lie about one lousy ice pick".
"So you don't mind if we have this checked out?"
"Not at all, but you'll have to give me twenty bucks as deposit." Bernie was quick again.
One of the detectives took out a twenty from his wallet. The other produced an evidence plastic envelope. Sealed it and let Bernie sign on the flap.
One week later Bernie was arrested for the murder of a wealthy stock broker six months ago. An ice pick was used when the victim apparently resisted during a robbery at his home. The stock broker owned a very rare ice pick that was among his collectibles that was missing. The intricate design was well documented in photographs of his private catalog. The ice pick from Bernie's yard sale may have been washed but not so thoroughly, apparently, because some almost microscopic specks of dried blood were trapped in the folds of the crevices of the ornate handle. The blood had the DNA of the victim.
Bernie quickly changed his story and switched the blame on Cornelius, his new neighbor. Cornelius was nowhere to be found. He abandoned his new home and an APB (All points bulletin) was issued for his arrest and a manhunt begun.
Bernie who spent days in jail was ultimately cleared. Cornelius, a career robber, as it turned out, remained at large. The idea that he's still out there made Bernie a virtual recluse, imprisoned in his own home, double locking his doors on days and barricading it at night, sleeping as little as possible.
The Moral of the story: (1) Return what you borrow; (2) Never sell to others what you borrow from your neighbors. (3) Karma - according to adherents of the philosophy - can be cumulative. (4) Do not denigrate garage sales or flea markets - sometimes there are hidden treasures there.
Speaking of flea markets I had personally found quality hand tools there that were not only rewarding to restore, they are still very much in use in my wood working shop. These things, inanimate objects that they are, have stories to tell. Filling those blanks, or to imagine stories around them may for some open a different view of America.
Speaking of stories, there is another one.
2. Chris came back after a three year stint during the Iraq war a broken man. Almost each passing day was a slow downward spiral into an abyss he was now hopelessly unable to reverse. One day he resolved to get out of it the only way he knew how. He was going to do it that evening. His life had been reduced to two months behind in rent for an empty unkempt apartment where the only thing of value left are his old 101st Airborne uniform and a 9 mm cal. pistol similar to the side arm he had during the war. And a handful of ammo. He was going to use just one of them later that evening.
He got out of bed at the usual late morning of between ten and eleven and often with very little ambition to do anything, when the days would go by aimlessly. But today he had a purpose. He will go out, walk around the neighborhood, have one final look. Not that there was much to look at. He will come by the shelter where he'll get lunch and say goodbye to the folks who every day dutifully served him and others like him. They are his last remaining contact in a world that had forgotten him. Abandoned him, in his mind.
He was surprised that he had accomplished what he planned for and was now walking back slowly, block by block, to his apartment. He might take a nap, wake up by sunset, and it shall be the end. He played that in his mind, over and over, making note of the sunset and the metaphor it represented in the coming night.
Just two blocks away from his apartment at an intersection by the curb was a white dog standing motionless. Its white coat caked with mud, its right ear was scarred and there was a frayed dog collar around its neck . They locked eyes. Chris looking down at the dog that was looking up at him. When he stooped down to pat the dog it remained motionless then licked his hand. Chris then walked away in the direction of his apartment. The dog followed him. He looked back and for some reason he felt compelled to encourage the dog to follow him.
The dog had to be hungry. When he got to the apartment he knocked at his downstairs neighbor's apartment whom he knew has a dog. He was going to see if she can spare some dog food. The lady knew him and she was happy to give the dog some in a dish and water in another. While the dog was eating their conversation led to what he was going to do with the stray. The lady suggested that he take it to the animal shelter that was actually a short walking distance from the apartment. It's possible the dog's owner may have registered the dog in the lost section. She gave him a spare leash for the dog and off the two went when the dog finished.
When Chris got there a young staffer told him there was nothing filed for this particular dog. She can take the dog but in a few days if there is no claimant the dog will be euthanized. The staffer now introduced herself . Her name is Claire. Claire said, "I think the dog likes you. Why don't you keep him? You know he has a name on its collar. Tracer."
Claire, before Chris could respond, asked, "If you have to go to work, you can leave him here and pick him up after work." When Chris answered that he didn't have a job, Claire asked him if he wanted to work at the shelter. He seemed to be good with dogs. "There are a lot of them to take care of here and the shelter does have a need for another person". Claire added.
That was ten years ago. Chris just had his ten-year anniversary with the shelter. He had been a model employee. Claire is now the Director of the shelter, married to a policeman, and they now have two kids, and Chris had since been a regular Thanksgiving dinner guest at Claire's growing family that has now two dogs of their own. Tracer passed away three years ago but Chris has another rescue dog that is with him while at work at the shelter and goes home with him each night to a better apartment. Chris also volunteers his weekends serving meals at the very same place that used to serve him.
Chris did get off the downward spiral road but through an entirely unexpected but altogether beatific way.
The Moral of the story: Everything and everybody has a story - the dog, the downstairs neighbor, Claire and most of all - Chris. We should all be mindful of these stories. They're all around us.
These stories I did imagine. The real ones out there could be more profoundly real.
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