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About The Know-It-Alls Who Heard It, Saw It, Read It, Before
Me
August 2004
Long before I was
born, my mother saw some subtle differences in families because
of the radio. She wrote a poem called Radio Blues.
Sometimes
I wish that I could go
Where folks hadn't heard of a radio;
But, I guess that place would have to be
In a jungle wild with my home in a tree.
There was a time when I used to tell
All the news to my wife, but now -- oh well,
If I start to talk of this or that,
Of who is who, I must drop it flat.
All the thanks I get for my trouble is: "Joe,
I just heard all that on the radio."
The poem goes on about Joe's going over to his mother's house,
moaning about the frustration of it all. She commiserated him
until he said he wondered if they'll have a nice day tomorrow.
"Oh, no, Joe. The rain will continue. I just heard the weather
report on the radio."
Poor Joe.
And now, an example of "what goes around comes around."
So, poor John, who has spent every day of his adult life reading
The New York Times. He would clip interesting articles for me
or one of the children, his sister, a co-worker ... others. We
were always grateful; we wouldn't have seen it, known it, if it
weren't for his thoughtful diligence.
However, more
and more often lately, I'm the one first with the news. My computer
opens with the front page of The New York Times and it's I who
says what the Breaking News is before he walks to the driveway
to pick up the paper tossed on the lawn. On the one hand, he looks
forward to reading all the details I pointed out; on the other,
he doesn't like turning pages to read what has now become "old
news."
Sometimes,
the news of the day begins with CNN and the reporters telling
us what went on overnight. There's a bit of one-ups-manship creeping
into our house. It's not unlike Joe and the radio. Radio? Yes,
I think we have one around here somewhere. Oh, yes, it's next
to the bed. We use it for an alarm clock.
Wanting to
be the first with the news must be in our genes. There's a story
I heard years ago about a horse, a wagon and a bathtub. The incident
took place on a hot summer day after the fruit and vegetable vendor
was finishing up his route. The wagon was just about empty when
the horse strained up the cobblestone hill to stop in front of
the man's house. Then, the horse dropped to his knees, whinnied
with head turning heavenward, and dropped to the ground with a
thud. The horse was dead.
The man was
overwrought. He collected a crowd and they wondered how they could
help. He gathered his wits and said pleadingly he needed to get
the horse upstairs into his house. There were enough strong men
in the crowd to do it and although they questioned his motives,
they responded to his sorrow. Danny Boy, the dead horse, was unhitched,
the wagon secured, horse's legs were tied together, then the horse
was hefted by four men, head to rump and they got poor Danny Boy
up to the landing.
They wiped
their brows and as they turned to leave, the vendor begged them
to help him carry the horse a little further ... into the bathroom.
Well, that sort of made sense, having him out of the way until
plans for the carcass were completed, so they went along with
that request. But, when the vendor said he wanted the horse in
the bathtub, all niceties were dropped.
"We have
gone along with this but I'll be damned if I can see why you want
the horse in the bathtub," said Mack.
"Well,"
said the vendor, still puffing from his part in the lifting, "my
brother-in-law lives with us and every time I say anything at
the supper table, he says, 'I know it.' and then he takes over
telling the story. Tonight when he goes in to wash his hands before
dinner, he's going to come out yelling, 'there's a dead horse
in the bathtub,' and I'll say, 'I know it.'"
From the days
of drum beats, ("I heard it, too") to smoke signals
("Yes, I saw it in the distance"), there's always someone
who has heard it, seen it, read it, witnessed it, and they step
on our lines making what we try to go on saying "old news."
Yes,
the story of Danny Boy, the dead horse, is really just a story,
and I'd like to think you heard it here first. But, the person
who created that little fable really knew human nature, didn't
he?
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