Page 10 - Carrollton 1973

There's a m an who sits on the library steps, a deck of cards in his hand, a
bottle of cheap wine by his side. He can tell you a story for every card in his

deck, stories of people and places he's left behind, stories of moments past.
A prostitute, Queen of Hearts he laughs, was once a graduate student at Tufts.

She can recite Dickenson by heart, and discuss Shakespeare, and she’s writing a
book. Calls herself " Bess" and everyone else " Joe" .
"A ce of Spades". A trum pet player in New Orleans, he'd give you his last

dim e. Lives in a loft with an artist, and plays for free in the streets. For the
people he says, for the people who love blues and jazz and the high pitched wail

of a trum pet . . . He was once the son of a banker, lived in a house that had
central air and two maids . . .
The cards lay flat, dull in the shade, their greasy, m onochrom e faces expres­

sionless and stagnant. Y et, in their stories is a spark, a taste of bittersw eet, a
yell of pain, a hallelujah of joy.

The old m an points to the sky. "Freedom" , he says, "freedom is pain, but it
is reaching out for new horizons. Freedom is not an absence from responsibility,
rather it is total involvem ent and dedication to a goal. Freedom means striving

. . . " he turns over a Joker.
"I have no nam e for this card, it could be I, or you. The Joker is the unformed

man, the m an bound by convention and tradition. The Joker is without identity,
without self. But he has the potential, the power and inert force to be free, to

strive, to reach for the most distant star, to capture a unicorn.
The old m an sm iled, his pale gray eyes flecked with silver. "T o be an indi­

vidual - to follow your own path, decide your own values. This is the m eaning of
freedom .”