Hank 2011. January 10, 2012
Posted by littlebangtheory in Love and Death, Politics and Society.Tags: Balanced Rock, cancer, GE, graffiti, Hank, hopelessness, Jackson Pollock, John Muir, PCBs, Pittsfield State Forest, transformers
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While out “hunting” today I chanced upon Balanced Rock in Pittsfield State Forest. It’s a large (20′) glacial erratic, a chunk of limestone perched delicately on a small point, its inverted pyramidal mass hovering incongruously above the ferns and the moss of the surrounding woodland scene.
What seemed more incongruous, though, was the surface of this once-white wonder:
I could almost see John Muir crying and Jackson Pollock furrowing his brow at the lack of intention displayed by the Blotto Spawn of Pittsfield’s Poor.
I’ve long since let go of my expectations that people will behave as though they respect the world which gives them a life filled with beauty and possibilities. The fact is, it doesn’t. Many of these kids watched their Dad die from the cancer he contracted building transformers for General Electric, their Mom smoke and drink herself into a crippled stupor, and both of their jobs get shipped to Malaysia when the EPA cracked down on that mess.
If I was looking forward to a lifetime of filthy streets and flipping burgers for pennies, I might be inclined to piss on the world, too.
“Hank 2011″ is one of the small number of people who raised their voices to here say “I EXIST,” without stepping on the faces of those who came before him. Perhaps Hank stands a chance of making it out of here alive.
Good luck, Hank. I’m rooting for you.
I remember a friend in OR telling me about having found her favorite mountain hot spring surrounded by broken bottles and many of the surrounding trees with gunshot wounds. It’s heartbreaking.
susan, I’m sorry to hear that.
Many years ago I hiked the half-hour into one of my favorite backwoods swimming holes, only to be joined shortly by a gang of college-age guys and gals who dispatched a case of Lowenbrau beers, smashing the bottles on the rocks rising from the waters of my Favorite Place. I gathered my ‘nads and called then on it as I cleaned up what I could – they were six, and I was one.
They laughed at me, called me things I won’t repeat, and left, smashing the remainder of their bottles on the way out.
After filling my shirt with shards of broken glass (I had nothing else to put it in,) I hiked back up to my car, only to find all of its windows smashed out.
Forty years later, it still hurts to talk about that. Today I’d do it all over again, but I’d follow them out more closely and get their license plate number!
I think the 1% is a state of mind as much as a representation of our economy. There aren’t all that many of them but the havoc they can wreak affects many. You’re a very brave man.