A Large Head

The head rises above all others in the restaurant except for mine. I am 6’2” and the one carrying the head is at least that. Like mine, it is a huge head – made more for modeling monstrously large hats or crushing boulders than sitting atop a human neck. My friend Barry Morrow says that such heads are preferred in the movie industry because they “photograph” better. Tom Walz, the keeper of the crazy crew at Uptown Bill’s Small Mall never comments on the head, but he is often amused at the antics and words of the body carrying it.

The head belongs to John Coolidge, scion of a long and noble lineage that includes literati and former President Calvin Coolidge. (Yes, the one who said, “After all, the chief business of the American people is business.”) In the eyes of a world that uses money and fame as the measures of success, John’s achievements have not been as illustrious as some of his forebears. Fate has not granted him the intellectual and social skills to make him one of the “beautiful people”. However, if kindness and devotion to duty were the rubric for our lives John would be among the giants of this world. Every morning (well at least most mornings) promptly (well very nearly promptly) at 8 a.m. John arrives for work at the Mall. Impresario Walz has labeled John the Manager of Mall Operations. Less grandiose souls might say John is janitor but they would be wrong. John definitely is the Manager. To be convinced of this fact, all one need do is to hear him shout “Manager!” before entering the toilets to clean them each day. Later, John will vacuum the rugs, take out the trash and if cajoled properly, may even wash some of the dishes. Throughout his tasks John’s stomach rumbles with Vesuvial intensity – brought on by his daily quota of two or more quarts of diet soda.

But today the head is at a Chinese restaurant, not at the Mall. John, like me, is engaged in one of his favorite pastimes – eating. Eating is a weak term for what John and I engage in when we are challenged by an “all you can eat” buffet. I generally can manage at least three heaping plates on such occasions. But even I stand in awe at John’s mastery of this environment. Plates and bowls of food are emptied as if by magic – one second they are several inches high with food and the next they stand empty except for a tiny residue of sauce. Adam Weinstein and I try to keep pace but we are no match for John’s years of training and his massive frame.

During the meal John shares his gratitude for the company several times.

“It is good to do things with friends.”

Adam replies, “Yes, John. I’m having a good time.”

Encouraged John continues. “I used to have a good friend in school but he went away. He had blond hair.”

I join in, “Where did he go John?”

“Somewhere west.”

“West?” says Adam, perhaps thinking of our recent journey to California.

John looks out the window, “Yes west of Mormon Trek somewhere. I used to know his address.”

Adam and I gradually tease out bits of John’s history. Peacefully joining in the flow of thoughts that reside in the big head. We turn with them when they take unexpected turns, neither judging, nor measuring them by any criteria other than John’s willingness to share; confident in the knowledge that we are on a journey without roads or destination – a journey of our choice, not undertaken to meet Society's standards but begun simply for the joy of journeying. Like the characters in Jerome’s Three Men In A Boat we pause for frequent side trips of unknown purpose and length, but on the whole the journey suits us well. Normal people never can take such a journey – normal sensibilities require roads and nuisances like beginnings, middles and ends to their journeys. But we three have established long ago that we are far from normal. Our journey may wander as needed and we follow John in fascination as he takes the lead.

When the check comes, my grandiosity takes over and I pay for all three of us. I would chalk my behavior up to simple goodwill but I have learned from years of therapy and AA that I am mistaken. My insistence on paying the check is a character defect of my wanting to control the situation and make other people like me, or worse in some people’s eyes, the flaw of allowing others to take advantage of me. John apparently is immune to such psychological ruminations. At first he is confused by my offer and thinks that I am asking him to pay for my meal.

He looks at me and speaks slowly as if to someone who is retarded, “We should go Dutch. We should each pay for our own.”

After a moment or two of discussion he finally allows me to pay for us all. I pay the waitress and she smiles broadly at the size of the tip. I generally over tip by most people’s standards. I cannot tell if this is another example of grandiosity or simply a nod to my past as a waiter while I was in college. Regardless, my paying the bill moves John to clarify that he does not accept charity.

“Okay then. I will give you a ride somewhere. The meal will pay for the gas. Where do you want to go?”

“I have my own car John.”

“Okay then. I will give Adam a ride.”

“That would be great John. Thanks.”

But John’s generosity apparently knows no bounds this day. He makes an even greater sacrifice than giving Adam a ride. He takes his coin purse from his pocket. It looks exactly like the little plastic one my grandfather used to carry. I drift off into ancient memories and almost miss John’s announcement of his next bit of charity.

“I will pay the tip.”

I explain that I have already included the tip in my payment. John is unmoved. He opens his purse, takes out a quarter and holds it up proudly.

“Okay. Then this will be an extra tip.”

Fearful of being embarrassed (for myself and John) I encourage him to leave his tip on the table. John will have none of it.

“I want to give it to her in person, because it is an honorable and noble gesture.”

Horrified, I watch as John calls the waitress over and makes a grand display of handing her the quarter (which I notice is covered in grease and grime).

“Here is an extra tip.”

The waitress smiles thinly and looks at me, and then back at John.

“Do you want change?”

John shakes his head and then announces. “No. It is a noble and honorable gesture.” I am grateful when the waitress leaves without laughing out loud. Once she is gone, John stands and makes an announcement in a voice that would be suitable for an award ceremony.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

Adam and I go outside to wait. Adam lights a cigarette and exhales a stream of smoke. “You know that quarter John gave the waitress?”

“Yes.”

“He found it on the ground at a gas station. I’ve never seen anyone so excited about a quarter.”

I laugh. “Yeah. He has a cup for tips at the Mall. He checks it every day for pennies and records the amount in his little notebook.”

We both laugh. Any embarrassment I felt earlier is gone. In John’s economics a quarter is a fortune. And, in this instance who else’s standards matter? Adam and I continue talking; finally realizing that John undoubtedly has decided to take in one last plate of food – perhaps as payment for his generous tip. He finally joins us.

The large head bows slightly in my direction. “Thank you Dale. Thank you for buying my meal.”

“You’re welcome John.”

“Yes, and my extra tip was a noble gesture.”

I say nothing but in my heart I know. Yes it was, John. Yes it was.