In my Impromptus today, I begin with a serious issue, a nasty issue: people who are so convinced of their own superiority, they refer to others as “bugmen.” We saw a lot of this in the 20th century, as I say in my column. “Bugmen.” “Insects.” “Untermenschen.” Keep your guard up. There’s no other way. This mindset reappears in every age.
I end my column by noting an article that says, “Some 7-Eleven stores in Texas and California have been blasting classical music, such as the opera, to shoo away homeless people from camping out at the entrance of their stores.”
My comment on this is lengthy and profound: “Oh, dear.”
Glen Griffin of Tacoma, Wash., writes,
You ended with “Oh, dear.” But don’t despair. Let me illustrate the law of unintended consequences and musical tastes.
In the mid-’70s I worked as part of grocery-store crew stocking shelves midnight to morning. The store was closed to customers, so there was no reason we couldn’t pipe the local radio station over the PA system. We were all young men, attending college, and preferred rock and roll.
Except Dave. Dave stood apart in every way. He was a professional night-crew guy, who spent his off time drinking Rolling Rock, smoking Pall Mall cigarettes, and going to the racetrack. No college for him. He was also conservative while the rest of us were leaning toward brain-dead liberal. But most important for this story, Dave did the work of two men on the night crew. Literally. When he’d go on vacation, one guy wouldn’t be enough to replace him. And Dave knew it.
Dave hated rock and roll. But being a fair guy, he put up with it. Then one day he told the crew boss he wanted some equal time: one night of country-and-western music over the PA. Without it, he’d just do the work of one guy. Like I said, Dave knew his worth.
So, Wednesdays became “Equal Time Night.” This was the mid-’70s, so what we got was classic C&W. We had Conway and Loretta, Charlie Pride and Elvis (singing about the cold Kentucky rain). “Hello walls” became a catch phrase. We started out mocking it all — I mocked, too — but gradually, over the months, I began to appreciate the music more and more. Still do.
Those homeless folk may move away from the 7-Eleven to escape the classical music. But if they won’t move, like I wouldn’t quit my job, you may not have to say, “Oh, dear.”
Mr. Griffin appends two excellent pee-esses:
P.S. When I tell this story to my family, I have to explain to the grandkids why we couldn’t all listen to our own playlists on our smartphones.
P.P.S. The last I heard of Dave he had been hospitalized with a collapsed lung. The doctor told him to knock off the Pall Malls if he wanted to live another year. Dave married a nurse and kept on going.
Viva Dave.