Perspective.
I have come to appreciate my mentors. One of them was Mr. Murray Braunstein at the High School of Performing Arts. At first I thought he was just like any other English teacher, a drone extolling the virtues of dead, mostly white men. I was wrong; in fact, he possessed the ability to breathe life into dead giants. Plus, he was a writer, and good one too.
He wanted to read some of my stories, but I don't believe that the New York City Board of Education paid him enough to read that garbage: Ridiculous tales of Egyptian princes who are murdered, but whose deaths are avenged by statues that come to life (The Golem ripoff, anyone?); dystopias where everyone is a smoker, where every inch of the earth is covered by used cigarette butts; diatribes against imperialism, as seen through the eyes of starving Bangladeshis; plus a sprawling, pretentious novel of the future that I must burn before I leave this earth. Yet one of my short stories seemed to offend him above all others.
The name of the story was "THE BINGO HALL BLUES." In this crime against literacy, an elderly couple survive some catalclysm - let's call it the Apocalypse. They know that everything above them has been destroyed, but the husband only cares about one thing: Will anyone be there to play Bingo at 12 Noon? After some pseudo-tension involving his wife tidying up, the husband ascends the stairs. He forces the door open; sure enough, in the midst of a city in ruins, with fires still burning and bodies in the streets...there are over one hundred people, sitting on chairs, crates, boxes and rubble, waiting to play bingo...
Mr. Braunstein let me have it. In his cutting yet diplomatic way, he asked "What's the biggest tragedy? For a millionaire to lose ten thousand bucks? Or for a bum to lose a dollar?" I didn't answer. He continued: "Who cares about a Bingo Hall? You see, Thomas, in the context of this worldwide disaster, this Bingo Hall doesn't mean a damned thing."
His words didn't hurt; I knew he was right.
Over the years I have continued to write my hits and misses (mostly misses). In my arrogance and ignorance I have dabbled in extremes, in certainties; however, the teachings of my mentors - Loften Mitchell, Stuart M. Kaminsky and Murray Braunstein - always seem to bring me back to my best attempt at Objectivity. I guess this is what distinguishes brilliant teachers from all the rest: They continue to speak to us throughout the years, throughout the ages, even though they are gone.
Thank you, Mr. Braunstein. Rest in Peace.
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