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| April 18, 2007 Red Alert by Soren Wuerth, insurgent49 A Reckoning
Whether it’s the proximity of seats, the anticipation of travel, or a plethora of possible airline complaints, airplanes kindle conversation. As we took our seats in Ketchikan, I found myself seated near a Gustavus resident, with an older man between us. It turned out we had friends in common, so the man in the middle suggested, in a hoarse whisper, I move to his seat so we could talk. He said something else that was inaudible. The woman held a fidgeting two-year-old on her lap and I guessed that by moving, I would be a welcome buffer for the man. He didn’t say much until we landed in Sitka. During the time between passengers leaving the plane and the new travelers, the man moved into a free seat and I climbed out into the aisle. I stood for awhile, tried to retrieve a toy dropped by the toddler, tried to retrieve the toddler chasing the toy, and then, returning to my seat, I heard the old man bark something at me. “What?” “Been flying for fifty years and never had such a goddamn hard time with people,” he said, gruffly. I looked at the woman next to me and shrugged. I guessed he was just another cranky Republican from Ketchikan. He had the stereotypical look: big brow ball cap, plaid shirt. I thought about provoking him, coaxing him into an argument, telling him I am a socialist, a tree-hugger, a liberal! Hell, I’d give him a heart attack! Instead, I found a booklet called “Whose Wars,” filled with lesson plans on teaching about U.S. conflicts and terrorism. I could feel him looking at it too. “I wish I could use these lessons on this guy,” I thought. The plane banked right, fell though the clouds and raced down the runway in Juneau. As it taxied toward the terminal, the man tapped the headline in the booklet. It was a letter a teacher sent to parents of a Seattle elementary school just after the U.S. began strafing targets in Afghanistan. It began, “Dear Parents...” and had a quote by Maya Angelou that said, “What really matters now is love. Strength, love, courage, love, kindness, love.” “Oh no,” I thought, “Now we’re going to get into it.” The man pointed at me. “That says it right there!” he said. “Parents need to tell their kids what’s going on!” “I logged entire mountainsides, entire mountainsides. Now, I got asbestos from the dust in the mills. I’ve got it, my wife probably has it, and my son may have it.” He said he was going home, on an island in Security Cove, to tell his wife she may also be harmed. “The doctor in Washington told me I have three to five years left to live.” “I’m a Republican!” he said. “That man Bush... he’s the terrorist! And I voted for him, voted for Reagan, voted for all of them, ... and they poisoned me.” I told him the doctors could be wrong about their prognosis. He winked and smiled. “I’m 83, but I’m still strong.” He flexed his arm. “Feel that.” I squeezed his bicep, a taut bulge. “Like a tree root,” I said. He smiled and slapped me hard on the back hard. A tone came over the speaker and people got up from their seats. “I’m sorry I got angry earlier,” he said. “It’s just that I just found out.” He shook my hand. Grip like a vice. A ways back there, I could have cared less. Soren Wuerth is perhaps Alaska's best known community activist, and is the winner of the Alaska Press Club's 2006 'Best Columnist' award. He resides in an undisclosed location in rural Alaska and can be reached at soren@insurgent49.com. 'Red Alert' appears on insurgent49.com every Wednesday. |
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