Sandwiched In Between

[Sandwiched In Between]

I think it was the mismatch of the long grey beard and ponytail with the three piece business suit that caught my attention first. I usually am as disinterested as anyone else on the sidewalk passing a sandwich board clad prophet. But this one got a second glance and then a stop out of me.

There was a single word on his breastplate and a different one riding on his back. LIBERTY declared the front and DUTY replied its partner (or maybe its opponent).

“Well, you caught me,” I said to the gent. “You have certainly simplified your message, but I do not think I know what it is.”

“Two sides, same middleman,” he explained. “Or maybe four sides if you count both internal and external.” He revealed the side facing his chest (on the reverse of LIBERTY) said DUTY and, facing his back, LIBERTY was on the reverse of DUTY.

“Uh, maybe, I still need another hint?” I asked, perplexed.

“Well, sir, we talk of our rights as those freedoms or liberties we possess as citizens. But you cannot have a liberty without it invoking a duty. You can speak as freely as your body and mind will produce, but you don't have the protection of free speech unless the rest of us acknowledge and fulfill our duty to tolerate your speaking and what you say. We got no duty to listen or to agree, but we got to allow you to say it.”

“So, my personal Liberties are backed by everyone's Duties to respect them,” I restated to him.

“Yup. And the same thing happens the other way around. The Liberties of everyone around you depend on you accepting your personal Duty to support them.” He grinned widely at my apparent comprehension. “When it comes to Rights, what you do within affects what others outside receive and what they do outside decides what you actually possess within.”

“And if I do not accept your right to something?”

“Then, sir, the system breaks down. You cannot expect to have your rights honored (by me or others) if you do not uphold your side of the bargain.”

“But I thought my rights were unalienable, given to me by my Creator.”

“He isn't exactly hanging around to defend them for you, except as how He is part of every consenting member of society by whatever name or concept that represents Him to folks. Without the agreement to agree as a society (even when the particulars may displease us), nobody has any assurance of receiving de facto the protections of his or her rights.”

“But people do not all tolerate other people exercising their rights. Somebody will blow up the building where I work, because another crackpot working three floors up posted a hateful blog.”

“And we agree as a society that the bomber is a criminal (who will lose his liberties when caught) and the crackpot is merely stupid (and wrong perhaps). But the crackpot's rights did not protect him or you from somebody who sees his duty wrong or too unimportant to fulfill. Liberties are made of the air in the words of speeches, but it is Duties that are the sinew that assure the reality of Rights. It is what we do, not what we say, that defines and defends the society we build together. Patrick Henry's quote of 'give me liberty or give me death' sums it up; we can choose our actions, but we are given the consequences. Sometimes we must risk dire returns to achieve desired results.”

“Well, thanks for the explanation. I appreciate you seeing it as your duty to enlighten us.” I extended my hand, curiosity satisfied.

He shook my hand and said, “Oh, they are paying me $8.25 an hour to stand here. Have a good day, sir.”

Three Men in a Tub Redux

Three Men in a Tub Redux

Neil and Doug slept too late and the bus departed without them.

That missed Earth Day trip starts this tale and triggers this poem.

Perhaps you have heard the story all you want, so hide your eyes,

For here again is the adventure of a small boat and three Tech guys.

Too late for the bus but awake too early, this pair to the City does go

To lower Manhattan at Saturday's dawn when city life is slow.

Through the unpeopled streets they walk and explore;

Only garbage and delivery trucks replace the horde's roar.

Wall Street is tall and windswept, echoing a faint silence,

And Trinity Church in its glory houses an absent presence.

Down streets and across, the grid leads them around and about

Until their path at the Battery Park waterfront peeks out.

The sun is now up through a light fog, toasting the air,

And the residents appear, shifting from here to elsewhere.

Neil and Doug pause to scan the river, its traffic and flow,

When behold, in a small sailboat, it is Diego.

Climb aboard, he offers, and let's share this morning ride.

He manuevers the tiny craft to pull up to the wharfside.

Neil and Doug look down at the drop to the water,

Then taking the plunge, they join the intrepid boater.

The bold little craft swings out to challenge the river's tide

Which washes downstream against the sail's force applied.

Our trio is swept forth, down, out, and into the harbor;

Progress resisted, windpower overwhelmed, they flounder.

We need a repair, says Diego, looking over the boat's stern,

So to the north shore of a small nearby island they turn.

I will make the fix, he says, while you look around.

So Doug and Neil scramble out and onto the ground.

Hey, look, there are buildings. Wonder where we are.

Let's wander to check it out; it is not very far.

So, over they stroll and enter by a back door

Into ages of litter and dust on the floor.

The corridors pass by large rooms with glass half walls,

Open for inspection by everyone patrolling the halls.

Abandoned in pieces, the rooms' stories are muted,

And, by curiosity, farther in, the adventurers are guided.

The hallways brighten as they enter the building main

And emerge at a dock where a half sunken ferry was lain.

Two men are at work feeding wood into a fire

When they spot the interlopers and respond with ire. 

 

Whats you boys doing here, yelled the little man in the hat,

This here U.S. Guvment property, and youse gotta scat.

Joining his partner, the large man moves the axe to his shoulder

And, for our young men, the air grows suddenly colder.

Under guard, four abreast, they march back whence they came

While little man lambasts them with abuse and shame.

At Doug's side, We ought to break your legs, he says.

The goliath grunts and Neil jumps a foot sideways.

Despite threat and dread, back to where the boat is moored,

They load in with Diego and push off with a broken board.

There are not many who ever can match their claim

That expelled from Ellis Island is now part of their fame.

The battle against the river once more they renew

But their efforts and plans again go askew.

They cross east to discover at Governors Island they arrive,

The Coast Guard headquarters with its docked fleet of five.

Their curiosity was untamed by their Ellis Island escape,

So in amongst the cutters they sail and wide-eyed gape.

Surrounded by walls of steel out of the water erected

The sail goes limp for all winds are deflected.

But the windlocked lads have gained the needed tool,

That broken old board, now a paddle in the tranquil pool.

With many a stroke, they turn themselves about

And with indeed many more, they eventually get out.

The sun has grown high and the tide has at last turned;

To get to Hoboken is top priority for all here concerned.

A zigzag course across the Hudson's unassisted flow

Should now be possible although still slow.

So off to the west at a hope filled angle they sail

And, finally, progress eases up on their travail.

They approach the Jersey side and tack to the east

And their eagerness for home is greatly increased.

But Diego is not happy with the rudder's performance,

As he peers over the back and takes another glance.

His fix has loosened; he needs to do it again,

So he passes forward a small cable to straighten.

With a small twist here and a bend or two there,

Neil gets the cable ready for the repair.

Diego leans over to rethread the rudder

With confidence and skill and maybe a mutter.

The repair continues as New York side grows nearer;

Doug sees faces onshore and hopes soon for a steerer.

Diego sits up at his helmsman position and with a snap,

It is off to New Jersey, hopping a passing ship's whitecap.

In midriver, Diego decides the repair is not quite right,

And again requests the cable reshaping to correct the slight.

From Neil, another twist and another couple more bends,

And the cable back to Diego to make more amends.

Diego resumes his midcruise repairs, when Oops he does utter

As overboard to the river's bottom goes that part of the rudder.

All is not lost, says resourceful Diego to calm his crew,

We just need a bit of string, like a lace from a shoe.

Doug at his pair of “modern” plastic loafers does look,

While Neil, for a loose string, the plug in the hull mistook.

With a quick little tug before anyone can stop him,

He retrieves this bit of cord, so crucial yet slim.

Oh, what a surprise! A trinkle of water starts to come in

And it is then that Neil announces he cannot swim.

In the boat are two lifejackets; Diego wears one.

Getting Neil into the other is the next course of action.

The plug once pulled afloat will never return,

So, to its new duty, it goes over the stern.

Doug's Korfam shoes are now buckets to bail

As over the sides the incoming water they flail.

The piers of Jersey City are a welcoming sight;

When the boat reaches, to them it's steered tight.

Skirting the shore, poking in and out and around,

The crew creeps back to Hoboken's safe ground.

Neil leaps from the vessel and plants a kiss on the ramp,

Relieved to the utmost to be saved from a fate too damp.

Life on land is celebrated with a trip to Washington Street

With the most wonderful Cuban meal they ever will eat.

The Cross-Jungle Bus

The Cross-Jungle Bus

(08/10/1969, editted)

The monkey and the giraffe got on the cross-jungle bus;

Giraffe sat upfront, Monkey back by Hippopotamus.

Said Monkey to Hippo, “Might you move the slightest bit,

You're so wide and big, seems to me, I have no place to sit.”

Hippo replied, “Certainly,” and he tried to move a mite,

But off went Monkey headfirst when Hippo slid left, not right.

“My head is lodged in your footprint; please lend me a hand,”

“Certainly,” but reaching, Hippo fell, body along with hand.

Alas, poor Monkey laid underneath, flat as a platter.

The noise brought Giraffe asking, “What's the matter?”

Monkey squeaked, “I'd ask him off before he starts napping,

But I fear to ask another favor. Imagine what might happen?”