“Good
people do not need laws to tell them to act responsibly” ~Plato,
Classic Greek Philosopher (427-347 BC)
It was 7:28 am
on a Tuesday morning in midtown Manhattan. Sunlight glinted off of steel and
glass office buildings. Legions of yellow taxis bustled up and down the street
taking important people to do important things.
John was out for his morning bike ride. It was
his way of getting the day off to a good start before he headed off to his job
at the firm. He loved his new graphite-frame bike and his microfiber racing
outfit that wicked away the moisture no matter how hard he pushed himself.
He was flying
down 5th Avenue when he realized he was about to miss his turn onto
West 51st Street. Veering left he started to cut across the lanes of
traffic. John didn’t see the Lexus LX 460 coming hard in the outside lane. An
instant later he heard the squeal of tires and the piercing blast of a horn.
When John became
conscious he realized he was lying on his back in the middle of 5th
Avenue. Fortunately his Bell helmet was still strapped to his head and was
intact. But as his head began to clear he came to a horrifying realization.
Except for his head and shoulders, he and his bike were under the Lexus.
People stopped
on the street. Juggling their coffee drinks, designer bags and briefcases they
began reaching for their smartphones. Videos were quickly shot and pictures
taken. Many even tried to shoot “selfies” with the accident in the background.
Then they uploaded their “captures” to their Facebook and Twitter accounts or
to their personal blogs.
The driver of
the Lexus got out, surveyed the scene, and gazed skyward with a “why me?” look
on his face. He reached in his car, removed his dress jacket from its hanger,
retrieved his cell phone from the inside jacket pocket, and then hung the
jacket back up.
He punched a
single speed dial code into the phone. From the sidewalk people could see him
talking animatedly into the phone; gesturing and pointing as if the person on
the other end could actually see that at which he was pointing. Finally, he
clicked off.
Again, looking
skyward, he heaved what seemed to be a sigh of relief. And now, having received
assurances from his attorney, he dialed 911.
*
It was 7:28 am,
on a Tuesday morning, in south/central Los Angeles. The little Belizean fish
market on Western Avenue was just opening and the old man who ran the bodega
across the street was standing outside his door having his second cup of
coffee. People were waiting for the
busses to take them to work or to look for work.
Juan was late.
The office complex had required an extra hour to clean. There had been an after-work
party and the place was a mess. Now he was pedaling his old bike down Western
Avenue as hard as he could. He had to get home in time to walk his little girl,
Maria, to her Catholic elementary school. She was in first grade and would not
leave the house until her papa got home to walk her to school.
Whether it was
because he dozed off for a moment or because he was worrying about the time,
Juan realized he was about to miss his turn onto Martin Luther King Blvd. He
glanced over his shoulder and, seeing no oncoming traffic, he swung a hard left
toward MLK. Unfortunately, a little old man in an ancient Chevy Malibu chose
that moment to change lanes. The worn brakes and tires made cries of torment
and then there was a dull thud.
When Juan
regained consciousness, he realized he was lying on his back in the middle of
the intersection of Western and MLK. The strong odor of burnt oil assaulted his
nostrils. He felt the back of his head. It was scraped and bloody, but
otherwise it seemed OK. Juan looked around. Suddenly he became frightened when
he realized he was looking up at the bumper of a car.
A woman in blue
scrubs, preparing to board the bus, saw the accident. The bus driver motioned
emphatically for her to board. She hesitated, then waived him off and headed
for Juan.
The old driver
exited his car, fell to his knees next to the man under his car and began to
pray, rocking back and forth as he did.
Time seemed to
pause. Then, as if by some imperceptible signal, groups of men stepped out of
their cars and trucks and moved toward the accident scene. These were laborers;
construction workers, landscapers and day laborers. They were sturdy, tough,
serious and single minded. As they went, they glanced at one another,
exchanging brief nods of understanding, but said nothing.
Reaching the car,
three men went to the front to where the man was lying. Gently, but firmly, the
woman in the blue scrubs and the old man were moved out of the way. Having
positioned themselves along the front fenders and wheel wells, they bent down
and took firm hand-holds. Then, they looked at one another. A moment later,
signaled only by a nod of recognition, they lifted the front of the car.
Two of the three
men in front quickly, but carefully dragged Juan from beneath the car. The
third cleared the bicycle and took it to the curb. Wiping their hands on their
clothes, the men silently returned to their vehicles and made their way out of
the intersection and off to work.
Sirens wailed in
the distance. The woman in the blue scrubs asked Juan questions, forcing him to
answer, to prevent him from going into shock. When the EMT’s arrived, she gave
them some quick information. Another bus had arrived at the curb. She ran to
catch it, hoping her boss at the clinic would understand why she was late.
Goodness knows
no address. It resides in no single zip code, community or only on certain
streets. Goodness lives in people, not places, and it is not dependent on race,
creed, religion or economic status.
The terms “good
neighborhood” and “bad neighborhood” are misnomers. Why is it that a
neighborhood, where a person or persons, who steal millions and destroy the
lives of many can still be called a
“good neighborhood,” while a place where someone robs a bodega of $100.00 is
called a “bad neighborhood”?
It is not where
we live that matters. It is the spirit which lives within us.
Dear God, make
me a good person, a good neighbor.
“The
world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but
because of the ones who don’t do anything about it.” ~Albert
Einstein, German-born theoretical physicist (1875-1955)
Special thanks to my friend Kathleen who witnessed the Los
Angeles incident.
©2014 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90
Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes
harsh world. This reflection is written by Deacon James E. Carper, Director of
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