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A view from behind
In another era I sat on a similar pew (on the other side of the aisle in those days) and saw through little boy eyes Miss Nettie Bland rush in from her home across the street from the church. By then she was up in years, and what she saw was not what I could see. There was a virtual snow storm of white powder, fuzz or dandruff on her navy blue suit. Her hat was just barely on her head, and around her neck were three minks biting each other. Their heads were shrunk, but the teeth and claws were very present. Whether it was last week or fifty years ago, I was supposed to be listening to the service. It seems the old church provides much to amaze me. For I have managed to watch wasps fly lazily around people's heads landing on window blinds, pew tops, and occasionally on someone's head. There was a teacher in school who could not manage to stay awake. Each morning while she was checking the register (a very serious business done in permanent ink), she would fall asleep and write all over her papers. This caused me a lot of stress because I knew she would be in trouble if she messed up that register. We students would laugh never thinking what may have been behind her momentary loss of consciousness. Our view was limited. We often have no choice in the view we have from behind. I have been behind some rather unruly football fans in the Gator Bowl watching Georgia and Florida play. Even worse is sitting in a gym near the opponents section during a close basketball game. Emotional and ugly are the words that come to mind when I think of some of these obnoxious fans (of course I have never been in that category). Much of my life has been devoted to anthropology. The view of the anthropologist is really from behind or from the outside. Growing up in Emanuel County there was little real diversity. Everyone was native born, no immigrants. Everyone was Christian. Virtually everyone was Southern. What a surprise it was to meet Charlie Stein. He came to Garfield to visit us a couple of times a year. It was business and it was friendship. He was from New York, New York and he was Jewish. He traveled with a little trailer in which he had all his novelty samples. Since my family had road side stations which sold souvenirs to Northern tourists, Mr. Stein provided a source for these Made in Japan trinkets. We always looked forward to his visits because he came bearing gifts for us all. Over the years my mother was able to get all her valuables through his NY connections- diamonds, silver, china and furs. We got fake ducks dipping their heads into a glass of water like the swing of a clock pendulum. What did Mr. Charlie get? He was invited to Sunday dinner and we had ham! I was horrified because I knew something of the Jewish prohibition with pork. I panicked and tried to explain to my mother what a disaster was about to take place. She simply said, "I checked with him already." Mr. Charlie did not practice all of his religion (this makes him like us). The next day Charlie Stein would head off up the road in his silver Airstreams trailer with its NY tag. I never knew what his view was in his rear view mirror. His view from behind must have been as exciting to him as ours was of him. This is a good season to look at the latest Christmas sweaters. I will move to the back of the church so I can see any new developments such as sweaters with pop out reindeer or a battery operated star of Bethlehem. Jack Atkinson is a guest columnist and resident of Garfield.
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