Althemus

Althemus, supposedly name of a God, is also the first name of a 77-year-old man I met recently. I met Althemus at my neighborhood bar where I dropped in after work if I feel depressed and don't wish to go home right way. I go there for anonymous human company. I would sit at a table in a corner and nurse two beers while reading a book. Now and then some curious dudes would come over and strike a conversation. Althemus was the third interesting person I have met through this unorthodox modus operandi of mine. His life story was interesting, at least to me.

Al's language was laced and peppered with profanity. He stopped by and made conversation when he saw that I was reading a book by Sam Harris. The following was the conversation between Al and me:

-That Harris was right. There is no fucking God. I knew that when I was 11 and cursed at him and challenged him to kill me, but so far the motherfucker has not done a damned thing. I am 77 years old. And I hate the day I was born. I want to die but I don't want to kill myself because that's cowardly.

-Sorry to hear about that. You look strong and healthy and prosperous. Why do you want to die? Don't you find life interesting? I've tons of problems, but I no longer wish to kill myself because I am curious, because I want to know what will happen to the U.S., to see how far down it will go; to China, to see how high it will rise; and to Vietnam, whether it can survive Chinna's current designs on its territories. A lot of people would kill to be in your shoes. Don't you see you are lucky to live this long?

-Lucky, my ass! That was what I told the captain chaplain when I was plucked wounded from the cold sea in Korea. I also told him if I could get up, I would hit him. The son of the bitch tried to get me court-martialed for threatening an officer. As I told you, I hate the day I was born. Do you know why? Because all I've experienced in life are hardship, bitterness, bigotry, and prejudice. You think I look Mediterranean, right? You're wrong. I am half black, but unlike Obama, I took after my mother and easily passed for white until my late teens when everybody thought I looked Italian or something. My parents had a hard life because of the bigotry. My Dad worked as a postman, supporting my Mom and me. I remember how life was when I was little, growing up in Flint, Michigan. One day, my Mom and I boarded a bus. As the front of the bus was full, she and I moved to the back and got ourselves the seats. The bus driver stopped the fucking bus and told us to move up front and stand holding to the bar because the back was only for the "colored". Now, you would understand how I felt when the damned chaplain told me that I was lucky to survive the war, just like if somebody told my Mom that she was lucky to be born white.

-But you were lucky to survive the Korean War. A lot of soldiers didn't make it. Apparently you didn't lose any limbs or your mind. And you are lucky for being strong and healthy to live this long. You don't smoke and you don't seem to have a drinking problem. I have not seen you order any drink yet.

-No, I don't like to be a slave to anything nor to anybody. You've got to understand this. I grew up poor and I hung in the streets all day long. I saw people got hooked on booze and drugs and I told myself that I would not be like them. I worked since I was 11, for the Mafia, running numbers for them. In those days, there was no lottery yet, but we created something similar to lottery for the folks in the neighborhood. I saw people got killed left and right. I still remember the first week after I started working, an older boy and I walked down the street early one Sunday morning and we saw a naked black man got hanged from the lamppost, with his dick in his mouth. I never saw such a horrible thing before in my life. My friend then asked me "Al, do you know why that poor man got his dick stuffed in his mouth?". I said, "No!" My friend had this weird laugh that I still remember to this day. He said: "Because he snitched! Remember that, don't you ever snitch." Like I was saying, I was working for the Mafia since I was 11, getting paid $5 a week. I felt rich. I was making almost as much money as my old man. I am telling you something else. My parents loved each other very much. That was my only source of comfort in life. They suffered because of bigotry, but they refused to give up on each other. They stayed together. A Catholic priest performed the marriage ceremony for them. In those days, it was not easy to find one who had the courage to do so. Anyway, at the age of 47, my Dad died of liver cancer. Four hours after his death, my mother died of a massive heart attack. I was 24 then and single. I was single not because I was not popular with the ladies. Far from it. One of my street names was Magic because I had magical relationship with women. Women loved me. I was trained early. Soon after I started working and had money on me when I was only 11, a 14-year-old white girl took a liking to me and proceeded to teach me about women. I learned about sex from her. We had a relationship for three years, without her parents' knowledge. Then one day when I was only 14, this girl suddenly told me that she would not have sex with me anymore because she was about to be engaged to a white boy in Detroit. I was furious, but there was nothing that I could do. So, you see, I learned really early not to trust women. I didn't get married till I got to be 35. My wife is Japanese. I met her while I was on vacation in Hawaii. We are still married. And she is still working as a receptionist in an insurance agency. She enjoys working. I am now goofing off and taking it easy. I worked hard enough. I told you I started working when I was 11.

I felt fortunate in meeting interesting people in this bar. A high school Hispanic math teacher, a former Special Forces sergeant, and now a street-wise former errand boy of the Mafia. Their lives are not as well known as those famous men in history, but no less interesting. They felt they had a rapport with me and thus shared their life stories with me. Life is not easy, but as long as we learn to show respect and understanding to one another, we can learn from one another's experiences and perspectives. In some ways, I find these three individuals more worthy of esteem and affection than some of the more learned friends and acquaintances that I know because these three individuals exhibited candor and unpretentiousness while the others have shown nothing to me of their inner world except lies and cowardice and excuses and pretenses, and even pathetic ignorance of hard facts and knowledge.