The recluses
Lots of reading for you tonight...I had two fascinating online stories separately referred to me this week. Their subjects are technically unconnected, yet there are some remarkable parallels. The first story is about an Indian in the Brazilian Amazon living now entirely on his own within a 31-square mile area that's protected by the Brazilian government, much for his sake, against building development. The second is about a wealthy heiress in the United States, now 104 years old, who has chosen a life of extreme solitude. This child of the Gilded Age owns three multi-million dollar homes-- one she hasn't visited in 50 years (though it maintains a full staff of caretakers) and another in which he has never spent a night-- not since its purchase in 1952. The woman, thought to be living in complete privacy now in a Manhattan hospital, is thought to have gone since 1930 without having her picture taken.
Though the lives of these two human subjects could not be more vastly different in terms of means and resource, they have lived arguably similarly-themed lives. Though it's easy for me to sympathize with an abandoned Indian living deep in the jungle, holding off the march of modern civilization with a simple bow and arrow and some guile, I find myself holding virtually no sympathy or concern for the woman born of such vulgar privilege, regardless of the status of her well-being. Whether or not the purportedly-still-childlike heiress is being robbed of her fortune in her centenarian years, it's hard to imagine a reality in this life in which the only moral action justified by the public isn't the confiscation of her money and her mansions and having her father's loot given back to the American people it was stolen from even before her birth. Call me a Trotskyist, I guess, but this story of her life is downright insane.
Despite noble actions being attempted by the Brazilian government in regards to the former, both narratives wind up being case studies into how sacrosanct property rights are in this world compared with human rights.
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An Iowan best known for participating in the state's annual coast-to-coast bicycle event, RAGBRAI, in the nude, and providing free beer to other riders at each stop along the route, is running for a seat in the state senate. The hypothesis reinforced by "the Chickenman's" story is that the traditional news media will treat any political campaign with sober respect provided only that the candidate runs with a (D) or an (R) behind his or her name.
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Sammy Sosa's not done with Chicago, even if Chicago behaves as if it's done with him. Reading this new magazine profile of Sosa makes me grateful to Tony LaRussa, the Cardinals, and their fans for the way they've treated Sosa's doppelganger Mark McGwire since his retirement. Mac ventured out into the void-- self-imposed-- for a while, but he was invited back to honor the old ballpark, his uniform number 25 was kept out of circulation, and now he's claimed it back.
Don't expect Sosa to be welcomed back by the Cubs any time soon either if Ryne Sandberg inherits the club's managerial position next year. Sandberg made his feelings about Sosa known several times, even during his Hall of Fame induction speech.
These guys will fight to the death, if you let them, to lay claim to that unofficial "Mr. Cub" designation, and never underestimate the importance of who controls the music on the clubhouse boombox at any given time.
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Incidentally, as you read the Sosa piece, note the eloquent words of sports pundit Jay Mariotti, who says that "(he) feels like an idiot because of Sammy Sosa" and the slugger's home run exploits. Mariotti, you see, is arguably even more unpopular among his colleagues than Sosa is among his, and this Sosa piece must have been filed before Mariotti had himself a rough weekend. Maybe Jay Mariotti should feel like an idiot because of Jay Mariotti.
posted by CM @ 5:17 PM
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