Everywhere, masses of people walk about – sidewalk, malls, sports arenas, outdoor concerts etc.  They are in close proximity to others also on the move.  Most are aware that there’s a risk of bumping into each other.  To avoid such unintended contact, they must be attentive, able to gauge speed, determine direction and be prepared to change course instantly.  All this appears simple enough and usually it is, but it doesn’t always work.

The process can break down when you and whoever is heading toward you appear to be on a collision course.  Once both of you make eye contact and each begins evasive maneuvers – that’s when it gets complicated.  The problem is that when the other person tries to correct course you do likewise in response to his move.  He then in turn changes course, leaving you both where you started – heading directly toward one another!  In an effort to deliberately regulate and direct movement each of you has become ensnarled in self-defeating choreography that may well end in bodies colliding.  Ordinarily that doesn’t happen.  One of you, recognizing the futility of your effort undertakes a decisive course correction, moves aside and allows the other to pass on by, often either by words or gesture; apologies are exchanged.

Here’s advice on eliminating such awkward encounters.  Upon recognizing a potential collision you must avoid looking in his direction or attracting his attention.  Otherwise, you’re likely to trigger the series of unsuccessful maneuvers previously outlined.  Instead, look away, walk naturally and move forward.  Proceeding thus significantly reduces the chances of physical contact.  Put this strategy to the test – you’ll see it works.

On the surface, this scenario addresses but a minor hazard of urban locomotion.  But recognize its implications for the contested terrain of laissez-faire vs government regulation.  A leap most grandiose you’ll say.  Well, yes, but consider what happened when both sides deliberately tried regulating their movements in response to the other’s maneuvering.  It didn’t work.  Only when each went about one’s own business, disregarding the other was safe passage assured.  But will this settle the original debate about regulation?  I think you know the answer.

It was in 1934, when I was 14 years old, that Hitler decided to hold a plebiscite to enable him to assume additional power in Germany.  If you saw the ballot you knew it was a farce.  Besides being decorated with Nazi symbols and Hitler’s picture, it featured two circles; one, a very large one, had the word “ja” (yes) written underneath.  The other one, considerably smaller, had “nein” (no) below it.  Who could miss the message?  Where do you think the check was supposed to go?

We voted in our town and that evening the ballots were counted in our old school house.  My friends and I were curious about what was happening, so we headed to the basement of the building.  Above us was the area where the counting was going on.  The boards on the ceiling were loose and far apart so we could follow what was going on above us.  We heard one of the officials say that since 14 of the town’s Jews voted, there had to be 14 “nein” votes.

And in the tally, sure enough, there were 14 votes against Hitler.  Except that I checked with a Jewish friend of mine who had voted, and he said – “I knew that’s what they’d do, so I voted for Hitler!”

Who of us doesn’t have memorable stories to tell?  Excavated from our lives and our personal experiences they are stored away as part of a permanent repository to be summoned when needed.  Carefully crafted and honed, they’ve stood the test of time and can be relied upon to entertain and enlighten.  That certainly is the case here.  My concern is not with the story, but with the storyteller, who in this case had related this same chilling incident to me on numerous occasions.

It’s not unusual.  How often are we warned about certain individuals who, given the opportunity and an audience will relate a certain story or two (or more) that has been told many times before?  Being forewarned may prompt you to leave the immediate area before he or she gets underway or to engage with someone else and thus be excused from paying attention.

I find such situations awkward.  There are times when I’ve chosen to interrupt immediately, informing the person that I’d already heard it.  There are, however, other occasions when I’m caught off guard; didn’t see it coming.  So he’s off and running before I can stop him.  Once underway I’m reluctant to intervene, recognizing his eagerness to relate the story.  So I keep silent; pretend I’m hearing it for the first time, then compliment him for a tale well told and worth hearing.  And, indeed, some stories do get better in the retelling.

I’ll hazard a guess that applause represents an evolutionary advance that took us humans beyond shrieking, stomping and pounding as a way of registering our approval.  Somewhere along the way, clapping was reinforced by cheering and whistling, but it remains till today our principle form of expressing support and satisfaction.  We need not elaborate on the varieties of applause other than to observe that men often go about it more aggressively and loudly, cupping their palms and forcefully driving them together whereas women try to be more decorous in their response, the sound emitted barely audible (some of us sometimes simply go through the motions of applauding intending not to produce sounds but simply to comply with what others nearby are doing).

Upon attaining young adulthood most of us have absorbed established applause protocol.  For example, at an orchestral concert, the conductor as he approaches the podium is greeted by applause.  Sustained clapping generally follows the conclusion of an opera aria.  A pop singer announcing his next number elicits applause from an audience presumably pleased by his selection.  A professional golfer having launched a thunderous drive will find the effort applauded by the gallery.  A presidential State of the Union message always contains obvious applause lines though actual response levels depend upon partisan alignments.  At the conclusion of a play applause builds as secondary players give way to the principal actors.  (No doubt the slightest differences in applause levels register with those on stage.)

Applause is the way audiences communicate with performers, whether by withholding or repeatedly clapping.  Tepid or “polite” applause usually signifies a notable absence of enthusiasm, whereas repeated and loud clapping or rhythmic applause is a distinctly favorable sign.  With sustained applause at the end of certain performances, the audience may be delivering a message, signaling for an encore.  Most performers, flattered by the response comply though some, even while continuing to bow, do not return after departing the stage.

Uncertainties about the process remain and awkward moments persist.  Opinions still differ as to whether applause is appropriate after each movement of a symphony or concerto.  Does one applaud in a house of worship?  While audiences are often instructed to withhold applause until after a list of individuals is introduced, the effort to suppress clapping is often unsuccessful.  Unsophisticated audience members often fail to applaud after each member of a jazz ensemble completes his solo section.  People appear uncertain whether or not to applaud at the conclusion of a movie.  Because people differ about such moments and others, situations arise occasionally when but a single individual begins clapping only to discover that he alone is applauding.  What follows is:  1) others promptly join in, for applause often is contagious; 2) all alone, he immediately stops clapping, shrinks into his seat and pretends he had nothing to do with that unsupported “outburst’.

If you found something useful in or admirable about this presentation, it’s OK to ….

I remember watching this performer many years ago.  Once the show was underway he informed the audience that he had earlier on mingled with those entering the theater, introduced himself, asked their names, chatted some, then headed on stage.  Once there, he proceeded to amaze everyone with his ability to recall the names, together with some personal information about scores of individuals with whom he had just conversed.  It was a dazzling display of instant recall, much enjoyed by those present.

Most people in attendance probably were thinking – if only I had this ability, what a difference that could make.  We all know people so gifted, able to retain and remember the names of hundreds of individuals, readily communicate on a personal level.  Who isn’t flattered when others we barely know who, when we meet, remember our names.  It leaves a strong positive impression, leads us to believe that somehow we’ve stood out, are special.

But alas, most people concede that they “have trouble with names”, feel embarrassed and upset when they encounter individuals whom they know, but whose names “escape” them.  It may even cause them to deliberately avoid such people (and regret they had not paid attention when they were first introduced).  Some will muster the courage and admit to a failure of memory and ask to be reminded.  From my experience, however, a majority will remain in the dark and hope somehow to discover this elusive identity.  They may ask others and possibly learn it that way.  Or get lucky when, by chance, someone mentions the name.  Once known, considerable effort will be devoted to retaining the basic piece of information.

Because everyone has been given a name it’s easier for humans to be social animals.  But it helps considerably if you can recall them.

I’m going back years now to a time when I owned a home in suburbia.  I recall this particular incident most vividly.  Returning from an intense tennis match I grabbed a beer, took off my shirt and sat myself down outside on the steps leading up to the front door.  I remained there some five to ten minutes, until I drained the bottle, then headed inside.  It was, I assumed completely normal and innocent.  It certainly should have passed from memory had I not learned shortly thereafter that a neighbor had taken offense to my sitting out there shirtless and drinking a beer.  “That’s what it was like living in Brooklyn,” she supposedly remarked.  “I didn’t”, she added, “move from that neighborhood only to see this sort of thing.”  I had had little to do with this neighbor.  Her reaction I considered amusing, hardly an affront.

I was reminded of that day recently when my daughter, while in the process of moving out of her suburban home, expressed concern.  She might, she said, be obliged to leave two garbage containers filled with recyclables along the curb for the entire weekend before Monday’s pick-up.  She worried that the neighbors (who she’d never again see) would not be pleased having the garbage outside for two days.  (In the end, she made other arrangements!)

I’ve long mused about the phenomenon of the overdeveloped suburban superego, the often not too subtle social pressure that regulates behavior among otherwise independent folks.  “What will the neighbors say?” might not always be expressed, but its influence is not easily ignored.

Much of this has to do with fitting in, learning neighborhood norms, conforming to outward appearances.  If your lawn gets burned out, or looks shabby and neglected, you’re sure it will offend those who’ve properly attended to their grass.  If your garbage cans are misshapen, smelly and shabby, or if paint is peeling off sections of your exterior walls, you can sense neighborhood disapproval.  If too many cars are parked in your driveway (especially if they are not late model vehicles) you can expect it has drawn the attention of people on the block.

There are other worrisome situations.  If a large tree on your property deposits most of its fall leaves next to the neighbor’s house, some sort of apology is probably due.  Likewise, if he’s already cleaned up his area and your leaves then blow on this lawn.  He might not say anything, but you sense he’s not pleased.

The local streets are public thoroughfares; homeowners consider the curbside area in front of their residences to be but an extension of their property.  Thus, parking your car there will surely be noticed and not welcomed.  Also observed will be the times your kids leave their bicycles on the property of neighbors when your dog strays and deposits there as well; late loud parties and sidewalks not shoveled in the wake of a large snowfall.  Words may not be exchanged directly, but somehow the message will get transmitted.  And so in time, unless you are downright ornery or totally oblivious, you will internalize “what the neighbors will say” assuring that suburbia will remain a place of tranquility and outward conformity.

Who doesn’t express outrage at times at the misdeeds of others, lamenting the “moral crises” that beset our society?   Rarely do we lack targets for our discontent.  They may be greedy bankers, corrupt politicians, conniving corporate leaders, steroid-stuffed athletes, even zealous lobbyists or students who cheat.  Can we trust anyone out there?  But are we any better than those we’re quick to condemn?  That’s probably unfair, but such a reaction was prompted the other day when over coffee at a neighborhood luncheonette, I watched as a fellow diner nearby scooped up all the sweeteners at his table (Equal, Splenda, and Sweet and Low) and jammed them into his jacket pocket.  That started me thinking about other forms of “wrongdoing” that many of us engage in at one time or another.  Some seem “serious”, others less so.  But I’ll leave such categorization up to you as we enter the realm of questionable conduct and consider –

THOSE WHO –

– Demand they be granted 40% off, even though the item they wish to purchase was (mistakenly) placed on a rack announcing such a price reduction.

– Abandon “unwanted” pets along isolated stretches of road.

-Sneak into other movies in a multiplex theater after viewing the film they paid for.

– Lie about the ages of their children in order to avoid paying at all or to qualify for a lower rate.

– Remain in their cars for long periods of time with their motor running.

– Notice the waiter has neglected to charge for a dish, but say nothing.

– With at least twenty grocery items in their carts enter a checkout line limited to ten or less.

– Demand payment from an individual who’s hit their car but then, ignoring the damage, pocket the money.

– Find a wallet, remove the cash, then return it to the owner.

– Fail to pay for an item when an honor system is employed and no attendant is present.

– Ask to pay in cash to avoid sales taxes, or who hire workers “off the books”.

– Make checks out at charity gatherings and claim the entire amount as a tax deduction.

– Scrape a car in a parking lot, then drive off without leaving their name and phone number.

– Keep an undersized fish they’ve caught in violation of regulations.

– Fail to mention certain “problems” to a prospective buyer of their home.

– Move directly into a supermarket aisle that’s just opened despite the crowd at the adjacent check-out counter, together with those who consistently jump lines, whatever the occasion.

– Return a garment after wearing it.

– Walk away after breaking an item in a store.

– Accept a phone solicitation, but never honor the pledge.

– Eat food while heading toward the cash register and fail to pay for the amount already consumed.

– Write a note to the school to excuse their child on account of illness when he or she simply wants an “off” day at home.

I’m not contending that any of the above measures add up to the monumental wrongdoing that has come to light in recent years.  But, is it fair to suggest that some of it emerges out of a cultural environment where “honesty is the best policy” is regarded as just one of several options. 

Have you ever seen a female “cameraman”?  No doubt they exist.  I’ve never spotted one, however.  You can tell most all are men, by observing them in action, I doubt they’ve been instructed to focus upon good looking women as they pan crowds; but that’s what they seem always to do.  Who can  deny that a disproportionate amount of attention is paid to pretty girls during crowd shots.

That attractive women enjoy advantages and receive special attention in our society (and probably most others as well) is hardly news.  Still, the guys make it all too obvious, especially when they just happen to tighten the shot and linger longer on them.

The camera has not been invited in.  Privacy has been set aside.  But then most people so selected would not object.

“Fame” is fleeting; best to cherish the moment should it arrive.

From early on, when some of us were latch-key kids, we understood how important keys were.  They opened doors to places where we needed to be.  If we were entrusted with them it was critical that we not lose them (or hope that a neighbor, given a spare, would be at home).  As the years passed on, rings or holders had to accommodate a growing number of keys:  front and back door keys, mail box keys, office keys (including one for the bathroom), vault keys, locker keys, car keys, trunk keys, keys to neighbors’ doors and parents’ apartments.  As keys were added, key rings grew heavier and more unwieldy; and finding the right one predictably more challenging.  Fortunately, keys were not all alike and in time we learned to recognize most either by color, size, shape or teeth configurations.  Or we added a piece of tape or altered the surface area somehow for easier identification.  But then we complicated matters by adding new keys from time to time.

Every so often, frustrated by delays in picking out the right one, we’d consider lightening up, pruning our key rings.  Reduce the number we carry to more manageable levels – a worthy task to be sure.  Easier said than done.  With key congestion having long ago set in, our failure to eliminate keys only produced confusion.  On the ring were some whose purpose could not be recalled.  No doubt several were no longer needed, but how could we be sure?  Where there was no uncertainty we disposed of the key.  But that still left a few for which we could not account.  So we keep them on the ring, hoping that one day we will.  Better safe than locked out.