Over the years my wife and I have been the fortunate beneficiaries of remarkable acts of kindness by strangers. Sometimes they have happened in what we initially assumed were the most unlikely locations...a rough neighborhood, downtown Paris late at night, a busy interstate during rush hour, etc. What we've come to appreciate is that no community has a corner on kindness (though some seem to work hard to claim ownership of the opposite). So glad that you and Barbara only took a financial hit and nothing worse.
I want to believe that the sum kindnesses of strangers outweighs the meannesses of others, and that across this mad, mad world there's more of the former than the latter. There's no doubt that, on Mother's Day, with you and Barbara stranded in god-knows-where, the six-block round-trip hike of the man to his brother's house to get just the right screwdriver matters way more than the harsh "move your car, you bastard" that some nitwit bellowed at you. And yet, I see more and more of the latter the former. I've almost entirely ceased to ride SEPTA trolleys, subway and El because of the tension that fills the air on platforms and in vehicles. People stare straight ahead, or hug their headphones, or keep eyes and fingers glued to device screens. It's hard to recall the last time a SEPTA operator greeted me as I stepped into a trolley or bus, and most of the time when I say "Thanks" as I exit I get barely a nod, and most often nothing. I was born in Philadelphia, and Al nearby. We've raised our son here and now he and his wife have a baby here. But lately, with baby in our arms, we all wonder how long we can stick it out. Not that there's any place much better to go, I guess, but what's happened to us, I just don't know. Another long lunch soon, okay? and we can talk about it and lift a glass to Screwdriver Man, at least.
Dan, This is such a great piece: both terrifying and inspiring at the same time. We knew of your family connection to Alan Pakula, one of our favorite filmmakers, but your telling of the random act of chaos that killed him is a powerful reminder of how fragile is the veil that separates any one of us from sudden death, and at the same time your own story tells us how sturdy are the sinews of kindness, even to strangers, that bind us each to each. So glad you’re with us to give us this story, these reflections. May this piece be republished a thousand times!
From Arthur Yellin:
You DROVE into New York? Are you insane? Amtrak and subway!
Over the years my wife and I have been the fortunate beneficiaries of remarkable acts of kindness by strangers. Sometimes they have happened in what we initially assumed were the most unlikely locations...a rough neighborhood, downtown Paris late at night, a busy interstate during rush hour, etc. What we've come to appreciate is that no community has a corner on kindness (though some seem to work hard to claim ownership of the opposite). So glad that you and Barbara only took a financial hit and nothing worse.
I want to believe that the sum kindnesses of strangers outweighs the meannesses of others, and that across this mad, mad world there's more of the former than the latter. There's no doubt that, on Mother's Day, with you and Barbara stranded in god-knows-where, the six-block round-trip hike of the man to his brother's house to get just the right screwdriver matters way more than the harsh "move your car, you bastard" that some nitwit bellowed at you. And yet, I see more and more of the latter the former. I've almost entirely ceased to ride SEPTA trolleys, subway and El because of the tension that fills the air on platforms and in vehicles. People stare straight ahead, or hug their headphones, or keep eyes and fingers glued to device screens. It's hard to recall the last time a SEPTA operator greeted me as I stepped into a trolley or bus, and most of the time when I say "Thanks" as I exit I get barely a nod, and most often nothing. I was born in Philadelphia, and Al nearby. We've raised our son here and now he and his wife have a baby here. But lately, with baby in our arms, we all wonder how long we can stick it out. Not that there's any place much better to go, I guess, but what's happened to us, I just don't know. Another long lunch soon, okay? and we can talk about it and lift a glass to Screwdriver Man, at least.
Dan, This is such a great piece: both terrifying and inspiring at the same time. We knew of your family connection to Alan Pakula, one of our favorite filmmakers, but your telling of the random act of chaos that killed him is a powerful reminder of how fragile is the veil that separates any one of us from sudden death, and at the same time your own story tells us how sturdy are the sinews of kindness, even to strangers, that bind us each to each. So glad you’re with us to give us this story, these reflections. May this piece be republished a thousand times!
Love, DR