Doubting Uncle

““The dead don’t stay where they are buried. . . . You may meet the dead anywhere.” …

…Treated (as some adults do treat children) as if he is older than his years…

Here is a grievous portrait, grievous most of all in its unforgetting attention; grievous most of all in its kindness. This is what a formative influence is, after all: to be influenced. To be formed.”

-Elaine Castillo, “Ways of Seeing.” BookForum.com. July 25, 2022

I was strangely effected by this little piece. I have nieces and a nephew how I treat, essentially, no differently than I would an adult, even though they are all less than 10 years old. I do it because I feel that children are a permanent underclass. They are not regarded as full persons because of their lack of experience and development. But, from my perspective, that’s what’s interesting about children. They have fewer preconceptions. In many ways, their views are just as important, and on occasion more important, than their elders.

But, this piece makes me wonder, who will they meet, when I’m dead and gone, and someone reminds them of their uncle? Or, is that a conceit? Will they remember me at all? To be remembered, or to not be remembered, is of no consequence to me. We all, inevitably, have our traces removed by time. But, I do try to be a positive influence, to be who I am and bring a unique perspective into their lives. Does it have any value? Will it, on net, be good for them? One can only hope.

Soundbeaming

“‘You don’t believe it because it sounds like a speaker, but no one else can hear it…it’s supporting you and you’re in the middle of everything. It’s happening around you.’

By changing a setting, the sound can follow a listener around when they move their head. It’s also possible to move out of the beam’s path and hear nothing at all, which creates a surreal experience.

‘You don’t need to tell the device where you are. It’s not streaming to one exact place,’ Wallwater said.

‘It follows you wherever you go. So it’s personally for you — follows you, plays what you want inside your head.'”

-Louise Dixon, “New device puts music in your head — no headphones required.” AP. November 12, 2020

What could possibly go wrong? Here’s the clue, “…it’s personally for you — follows you, plays what [someone else wants] inside your head.” Want to guess the power of this kind of suggestibility on crowds, targeted advertising, etc.? Coming soon, a device that blocks this device, available for a moderate fee.

Mr. Electrico

“Yes, but he was a real man. [Mr. Electrico] was his real name. Circuses and carnivals were always passing through Illinois during my childhood and I was in love with their mystery. One autumn weekend in 1932, when I was twelve years old, the Dill Brothers Combined Shows came to town. One of the performers was Mr. Electrico. He sat in an electric chair. A stagehand pulled a switch and he was charged with fifty thousand volts of pure electricity. Lightning flashed in his eyes and his hair stood on end.

The next day, I had to go the funeral of one of my favorite uncles. Driving back from the graveyard with my family, I looked down the hill toward the shoreline of Lake Michigan and I saw the tents and the flags of the carnival and I said to my father, Stop the car. He said, What do you mean? And I said, I have to get out. My father was furious with me. He expected me to stay with the family to mourn, but I got out of the car anyway and I ran down the hill toward the carnival.

It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I was running away from death, wasn’t I? I was running toward life. And there was Mr. Electrico sitting on the platform out in front of the carnival and I didn’t know what to say. I was scared of making a fool of myself. I had a magic trick in my pocket, one of those little ball-and-vase tricks—a little container that had a ball in it that you make disappear and reappear—and I got that out and asked, Can you show me how to do this? It was the right thing to do. It made a contact. He knew he was talking to a young magician. He took it, showed me how to do it, gave it back to me, then he looked at my face and said, Would you like to meet those people in that tent over there? Those strange people? And I said, Yes sir, I would. So he led me over there and he hit the tent with his cane and said, Clean up your language! Clean up your language! He took me in, and the first person I met was the illustrated man. Isn’t that wonderful? The Illustrated Man! He called himself the tattooed man, but I changed his name later for my book. I also met the strong man, the fat lady, the trapeze people, the dwarf, and the skeleton. They all became characters.

Mr. Electrico was a beautiful man, see, because he knew that he had a little weird kid there who was twelve years old and wanted lots of things. We walked along the shore of Lake Michigan and he treated me like a grown-up. I talked my big philosophies and he talked his little ones. Then we went out and sat on the dunes near the lake and all of a sudden he leaned over and said, I’m glad you’re back in my life. I said, What do you mean? I don’t know you. He said, You were my best friend outside of Paris in 1918. You were wounded in the Ardennes and you died in my arms there. I’m glad you’re back in the world. You have a different face, a different name, but the soul shining out of your face is the same as my friend. Welcome back.

Now why did he say that? Explain that to me, why? Maybe he had a dead son, maybe he had no sons, maybe he was lonely, maybe he was an ironical jokester. Who knows? It could be that he saw the intensity with which I live. Every once in a while at a book signing I see young boys and girls who are so full of fire that it shines out of their face and you pay more attention to that. Maybe that’s what attracted him.

When I left the carnival that day I stood by the carousel and I watched the horses running around and around to the music of “Beautiful Ohio,” and I cried. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I knew something important had happened to me that day because of Mr. Electrico. I felt changed. He gave me importance, immortality, a mystical gift. My life was turned around completely. It makes me cold all over to think about it, but I went home and within days I started to write. I’ve never stopped.

Seventy-seven years ago, and I’ve remembered it perfectly. I went back and saw him that night. He sat in the chair with his sword, they pulled the switch, and his hair stood up. He reached out with his sword and touched everyone in the front row, boys and girls, men and women, with the electricity that sizzled from the sword. When he came to me, he touched me on the brow, and on the nose, and on the chin, and he said to me, in a whisper, “Live forever.” And I decided to.”

Ray Bradbury in an interview with Sam Weller, “Ray Bradbury, The Art of Fiction No. 203.The Paris Review. Spring 2010.

h/t Boing Boing.