Well, I’ll wrap up that story before catching you up with more recent stuff.
continued from the prior journal entry:
At this time, we traditionally met around the steel fire pit in the brick-paved center of the park. On this day, while we discussed some point probably about equal in importance to the compost question, three men entered our camp.
They walked oddly, in comparison with most people. Normally, three men in a group walk abreast, if they have the room. They talk. Or if they do not talk, they communicate with body language. They have some shared sense of their objective, and they steer each other as they go along. They dither: those constant little moments of uncertainty born of courtesy. They tend to focus more on where they are headed than where they are.
These men walked single-file. The first was a big man perhaps in his fifties. The other two were younger. I later guessed they were his sons. The first man, Mack, appeared to walk as a man lost in thought, without especially considering where he was going, but only where he was in that moment. He had his hands in his pockets. They walked very evenly, with no dithering. All together, it was entirely unclear whether they were walking into the park, or into our group.
They stopped and stood a little off from our circle, and after looking us over a moment walked on. I thought they continued to the library, but a good couple minutes later Lawrence spoke to me. “Do you want to take care of your customers?” he asked, pointing behind me.
The three men were standing at the food tent, in a line, still not talking. They had their backs to the food table and were surveying our group.
I walked up to these three men and put my hand out. “I’m Conrad. Conrad Cook.” The man introduced himself as Mack Page.
The young man at his side was ready to shake hands too, but he held off, and I had an intuition and held off, and Mack did not introduce us. The other young man was standing behind him, almost ignoring us, almost at attention. After a moment, Mack seemed satisfied, as if I had passed a test. I would go through their chain of command.
Mack looked over the Occupy Bangor meeting in paved center of the park. “Who’s the leader?” he asked.
“Ideologically, we don’t have a leader,” I replied. “In fact, of course, we do have leaders. They would be the officers, what we call point people, who run the committees. What we call working groups. But there’s no one leader overall.”
“Who’s that man that’s speaking?” Mack asked.
“That’s Lawrence,” I replied.
“What does he do?”
“He’s the head of security.”
Captain Kirk had an evil twin. Several heroes have. If you imagine George Bush Sr. having a good twin, someone who vaguely reminds you of the ex-President, but is a thoroughly decent human being, that’s Lawrence. Continue reading