thoughtcrumbs

I haven't met many odd people in my life. At least not the sort that could populate a novel like The Corrections or a scene in a David Lynch movie (even a David Mamet movie, for that matter). In general, I tend to run into stable, reasonably intelligent people, whose worst pecadillos are off-key singing or obsessive work habits. (I suppose, technically, they could comprise the cast of a bestseller, but really, they'd need an author less bland than me to make them scintillating.) So, my encounter last night was rather unusual, and after reiterating the story to a friend and to my mother, I still haven't clarified all of the details in my mind, so allow me to blather here a bit about it.

Last night I was waiting for a friend after church. I loitered on the front steps as the congregation left and the priest shook people's hands. An oldish man was standing near me, facing the church doors, and I thought he was a greeter. So, I didn't mind when he started to chat me up. He asked if I was a student, and, when I said I'd graduated a year ago, he asked what I'd learned. It was one of those questions that begs a profound answer, but I waffled and said I'd learned quite a bit about Computer Science. Now, I don't remember how the conversation turned this way, but he proceeded to tell me that he didn't think the priest knew what he'd been preaching about, and that the Church (big C) was rather pathetic. Not what you'd expect from a seemingly kind old man standing outside a cathedral.

And of course he wanted to know what I thought. Rather flabbergasted, I said I didn't think it was my place to judge, at which he interjected, "Why, because you're a woman?"  While snorting, I said, "No, because I'm here to absorb as much as I can, and to appreciate my surroundings." (Or something wussy to that effect.) And to change the subject, I asked him his name.

John, as I now knew him, was a poet. And, apparently, the editor-in-chief of an unnamed Portland publishing firm. And, a classical scholar. And I began to wonder if he was perhaps also homeless and a tad daffy. Meanwhile, everyone had vacated the steps, and it was just me and this old loon. I was considering dismissing him and walking away when he asked,

"If I said 'Between you and I,' would that be correct?"

Amused by the grammar challenge, I explained that, no, you'd say "Between you and me."

"Why?"

"Because 'me' is the correct object of that phrase."

He wrinkled his nose. "Phrase?"

"Okay, clause, since it's not a full sentence."

His expression turned more sour. "Clause?"

"Alright, prepositional clause, because 'between' is a preposition."

At which he smiled, and acknowledged that I at least knew my parts of speech. (And yes, I'm flagrantly ignoring the proper way to write quotations. Get over it.)

He continued his challenge. "Can you do this?" He wiggled his finger. "Yes," I said, wiggling my finger. "Are you sure?" he prodded; "Can Christopher Reeve do this?" I said I wasn't sure, since Christopher Reeve was partially paralyzed. Not sure where this train of thought was going, I didn't mind when he waxed philosophical. "I'm also an epistemologist," he said. I smiled, since I'm a dictionaryhead and know the meaning of that word. "Do you know what that means?" he asked. Now, unfortunately, there are so many silly words in my head, that I made the minor sin of confusing epistemologist with etymologist. "You study the origin of words," I replied. At which he scowled and said that no, he studied the validity of thought. Damn, I lost points. And here I was having fun.

"Do you know your major word? You've said it eight times already since we met." Not sure what he meant, I asked if it was the word I'd used most frequently. He just stared. I considered it, and realized that I'd been adding modifiers like "perhaps" and "suppose" to most of my statements while talking to him. Fearing that he was logarrheically wacko, and not wanting a barrage of "whys" after every statement, I'd been intentionally weakening my points so as not to get tangled in an annoying semantic debate with this guy who'd just called my priest pathetic. I asked if either of those words was my major word, and he just scowled. "That proves that you don't listed to yourself. You're 24 years old, and you don't even know your major word." At this brusque and crabby reply, I asked him to clarify his criteria for this "major word," since I'd used a lot of articles more than eight times already. This, of course, led to a discussion on the proper use of "criteria" versus "criterion," and later "persecution" versus "prosecution" ("since so many words change in meaning with just one little letter." "Two letters, technically," I retorted.) I held my own, rather amused by this extended confrontation. Twenty minutes had passed.

Up walks another man, apparently homeless. Before he even reaches us, John asks the man if he is going to ask us for a dollar, and that he probably wants it for cigarettes, since John could smell him already. The man replies, no, he was looking for the priest. And that, yes, he did need a dollar, and a lot more, but only because he needed to buy a box of Depends. And, did I know what Depends were? I nodded. This new man needed to buy some for his mother, for whom he was caring, and Fred Meyers wouldn't trust him until tomorrow. He needed $6.95 for them. John arched his eyebrows. The homeless(?) man confronted John. "Have you read any Thomas Merton?" "I've read everything he's ever written" (of course). The two men traded barbs about what Merton would do in this situation, and proceeded to argue about another Christian philosopher, whose name escapes me. Now I'm really considering excusing myself. But it was just so darn odd! John said he was talking to "this young lady," so the second guy finally walked away.

"By the way, you can't do this [wiggles his finger]. Only I can move my finger. You can only move your finger. So you can't do this. Have you figured out your major word yet?" Unfazed, I asked if he knew the time. "Yes." "Would you please tell me the time?" "Yes." "Please tell me the time." And he showed me his watch. A half-hour had passed. "Now you know how to ask for things," he said. "Please tell me my major word," I said. He agreed to point it out if I used it again. It was the word "I." And "I" is really the major word of every person who is self-aware. And now I've been "inducted into the cognoscenti" because I'm self-aware. (Earlier he'd asked me if I was a member, but I said I didn't consider myself to have had enough life experience to be a part of that group, even though I'm well-read.) John mentioned that he had a book coming out, Is the Pope Catholic?, and I started to wonder if he was famous. He mentioned that he had a couple of PhDs. I asked his last name, (Kiley) and when he said he had a website (surprise!), how to spell it. He looked for a business card in his wallet, but ended up pulling out his AMA card, proving he held an MD, too.

I finally let him know that I was very late to meet a friend (true), but that I enjoyed talking with him (true). A search later on Amazon pulled up several works by John Cantwell Kiley, who is apparently a good friend of William S. Burroughs. (Wonder if he's ever seen Einstein's brain, which Burrough's next-door neighbor stole? But that's for another story.) The URL he gave me, jckiley.com, currently leads to nothing but a duplicitous domain-name placeholder, but I'll keep an eye on it. I'll let you know if the crabby old epistemologist ever rears his head online. One day, a more fictional and stylized version of this tale will end up in my memoirs, but for now, we members of the cognoscenti are content to ramble.