#12 A WOMAN'S BRIEFS -- AN EARRING/A MEMORY

I chose earrings this morning that I haven’t had in my ears in years. I bought them, along with the festive necklace they match, in a Philadelphia department store. My friend Suzie and I were in the city, headed that evening to a seventieth birthday bash for Dr. Tony Campolo, professor emeritus of sociology at Eastern University.  If you know Tony, or more likely, know of Tony, you may wonder how I happened to be on the party guest list. How, however, is not my point. The point of this paragraph is getting me to the party, to my assigned seat, well in the back of the room. Admittedly, at the very back, seated with business associates and shirttail relatives. Nevertheless, there Suzie and I were, among hundreds celebrating this renown man.

So. The party. Picture it: balloons and streamers, soaring sounds of music, dim lights, and loud conversations. Tony and notable guests sat half a football field of tables away from Suzie and me when salads and sizzling steaks got served. Happy though we were to be included, Suzie needed salt. Who could help but notice the near proximity of black-tuxed waiters idling against the back wall of the ballroom, paying not one bit of attention to our glances meant to attract them to our table. But, hey, this was Philly, Tony’s rough hometown, so why should we expect to be paid attention? The waiters were attentive enough to communicate with the kitchen, apparently. We watched them work with walkie-talkies. Rude, to say the least. Right?

Wrong. Salt would not be served by Secret-Service men. The Secret-Service men lined along the wall, and evidently scattered about in the crowd, paid no attention to the needs of the crowd; oh yes, blended in they were by their dress, but bent on only one thing—protect the woman in their care, Hillary Clinton; she, the one seated to the right of Tony, at the table of honor. 

That night, Tony would wow the crowd, as usual. On that festive evening, he told the tale of his throwing a wee-hours birthday party for prostitutes in a Honolulu diner dive. He would, as he always does, rearrange the familiar Christian message in a manner making it utterly appealing. (You can see Tony tell the story on You Tube: Tony Campolo/Sept.5, 2013) But, that’s not the point, either.

The point of remembering a story attached to a pair of earrings purchased in Philadelphia, is this: My friend Suzie and I completely misread the mission of men minding us no attention. At a glance, we made an assumption about them, then plumped up that assumption with the mistake of misconstruing a situation. Until truth got apprehended, it was impossible for us to admire men willing to give their lives for another when we assigned to them the task of fetching salt. 

This morning, as I secured the second earring I haven’t worn in years, I remembered those Secret-Service men. I remember Hillary Clinton honoring our friend, a brilliant sociologist in trouble for being politically Democrat and progressively Christian. I remember Tony telling the hilarious and beautiful story of partying with prostitutes, I remember being impatient with what I perceived as being slighted by servers. How ready we humans are to embrace a notion knit from nothing but presumption.