Bhutan

Of a recent summer’s morn, my wife Lois and I were listening to National Public Radio as we had the compulsory second cup of coffee on the wonderful deck of our modest summer home in the Adirondacks. A reporter started an interview with an academic in Kansas who followed the way of Taoism, the teachings of Lao Tse. The philosophy suggests that by following the life force within, the “Chi,” a person could find understanding of a different sort, a contentment and peace. It suggested a gentle freedom, and the professor used a phrase that is close to becoming a cliché: “Be careful that you do not become possessed by your possessions.”

Pondering that statement I recalled the beauty, graciousness and splendor of Vizcaya, the Deering estate in Miami. Vizcaya, which warms with its wonders of Renaissance architecture, truly splendid antiques and graciousness, and speaks of wealth well spent. It is one of the wonders of this diverse land. F. Scott Fitzgerald said it right: “The rich are just like us, but different.”

I attended an annual Christmas party at Vizcaya which evoked the spirit of Charles Dickens, of all things. The magnificent tree created visions of sugar plums, of pipe smoke, of Madeira and mulled cider. All that in a distinctly tropical setting. I wandered about and viewed the great table where the Presidents of all the American democracies, North and South, had gathered some years before. On the veranda, individual bars had been set up. I sat, then got up to get a drink, and had to listen to a pair of society matrons standing directly in front of me, who discussed their recent vacations. Yet after several moments of enforced eavesdropping something about their comments didn’t seem to have anything to do with leisure. More to the point, they seemed to be time and conversations fillers after the fact.

One had gone to Odessa on the Black Sea and had spent several weeks in the region, doing God knows what. If you are going to Russia, see the history of Moscow and the sheer magnificence and splendor of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. Why had she gone to Odessa for a protracted stay in the off season? Maybe she wanted a fast course in Russian but this dowager didn’t seem to be the type interested in that rich language or culture.

Her companion spoke of Bhutan and its attractions, a country of which I am ignorant. They sparred in their gushing enthusiasm for their voyages and I wondered about their time commitments to total self-indulgence and ennui. I looked up to see the bartender moving swiftly and efficiently as he poured drinks. I got to the front of the line, ordered a Scotch on the rocks, saw his empty tip cup, and dropped in a couple of bucks.

I mentioned that he wouldn’t get a chance to grab a sandwich and he nodded and said, “And I’m just coming off my other job. Baby’s gotta get a new pair of shoes.” He smiled, poured my drink, thanked me for the tip and I resumed my seat and found the two society matrons, discussing future trips and destinations. They were literally going to cross the globe, perhaps several times, and acknowledged each other’s plans with greater descriptions of their own itinerary.

Suddenly I remembered a powerful scene in the documentary, “Roger and Me.” It was an interview in which wives of the Ford executives who had presided over the death knell of Flint, Michigan. The company had withdrawn its production facilities in the once thriving city. Prior to this there had been interviews of laid-off workers, many of whom had exhausted their union benefits and would take any job or go on welfare. In their faces were shadows of the farmers who had lost everything in the dust bowl of the thirties.

It was a testament to the new American ethic in which the measure of our social awareness seems to be the age of the car “Junior” would get on his sixteenth birthday or the daily stock market quotations. We are largely a “have” society, or by God we are going to “get” what we think we want or need. Anyway, these cast-off Ford employees weren’t thinking of anything other than where to find work.

The Kansas academic’s remarks about being possessed by our possessions came home as the reporter in “Roger and Me” tried to interview the mature ( read that sixties plus) women who were playing a round of golf. The disaster in Flint had as much relevance to them as throwing away an old, worn out pair of shoes. These were upper- middle-class “haves,” whose parents, likely as not, hadn’t gone to college. They were much more interested in their game and their views reflected their total distance from, and perhaps disdain for, the nearby community. Is that what we’re becoming?

One of the most graphic and infuriating photos I’ve ever scene is one of a fat Chinese woman sitting outside her shop amidst bags of rice while a starving child wails in front of her. Compare it to the shot of a blackened baby who sits sobbing after the Japanese rape of Nanking, or the Vietnamese child running after being scorched by napalm.

We profess to follow the great Christian ethic. In The Keys to the Kingdom, Father Chisholm is asked by a wealthy parishioner how to be granted admission to heaven and the good, sound priest says, “Reduce, for lo the gates of Heaven are narrow.” A couple of years ago a Jewish manufacturer actually kept his employees alive when their plant was closed by fire, until a new enterprise started up. That man quoted the biblical injunction about mercy and its quality.

I wonder what he and the fat cats at Vizcaya would discuss if they were seated at the same table.

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