Hi Dan, There but for grace ... go we all. Salutary.
I didn't read ZMM until 2001 after decades of sharing some of Pirsig's frustrations without knowing it. I had started a new job on 01.01.01 and the millennium lifestyle change gave me the opportunity (and motivation) to read. For me it was a release I've never looked back from. Ian On Thu, Jul 8, 2010 at 2:35 AM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> wrote: > Hello everyone > > On Fri, Jun 18, 2010 at 9:06 PM, Mary <[email protected]> wrote: >> >> What was it like for you the first time? I bought the first book thinking I >> was reading just another novel, but by the end it had turned into a "Holy >> Shit" experience I didn't expect. Caught me totally off guard. Knocked me >> off my complacent, muttering at the insanity on the evening news rocker. I >> didn't understand half of what I read, but the half I did was enough. I was >> doomed or hooked or something, and here I am now talking to you. :) > > Mowers and Madness > > I read ZMM when it was first published in 1974. The world was > different yet much the same. It seems smaller now. Back then, I didn't > dream of talking to good people all over the world about the book. > > I remember I was working at a small engine repair shop at the edge of > some town who's name escapes me just now. The shop was called > Greenwalt's but the fellow who owned it was named Luttick... > pronounced with a long U as in Louie. LU-tick. The old man would get > mad if a person didn't pronounce the name right. I'm much the same > about my name. > > The family lived in an old Victorian down the hill behind the shop. > The old man was named Eldon. He drank. He'd show up at the shop about > 10am each morning. He knew his small engines and showed me just about > everything I know today. By noon though, he'd be so drunk he'd have to > go home and sleep it off. > > Arnie, his son, ran the place; he's the fellow who hired me. I'd been > driving down the highway and saw a HELP WANTED sign in the window. So > I stopped. Arnie worked the counter. I did the repairs in the back > room as best as my ability allowed, relying on help from Eldon any > time I got stuck. > > Behind the shop, vast stacks of junk were heaped in hopes of finding > some future use: old chain saws, lawn mowers, snow mobiles, dirt > bikes, even old cars and trucks. There was no obvious order but Eldon > always seemed to know just where to look when we needed a spare part. > > A slow-rotting picnic table once painted green and leaning to one side > sat under an enormous oak in which someone had long ago hung a tire > swing from a branch some fifty feet high. The rope looked to be half > rotten and the tire seemed to stay full of brackish water. Between > jobs and on my breaks, I sat at the picnic table and read. > > I'd seen ZMM on the bookshelf at the grocery. One day I had a few > extra dollars so I threw the book on the conveyor with my groceries. I > brought it work. One day I forgot it and left it laying on the picnic > table. The next morning I discovered the book soaking wet and swelled > up like a balloon as it rained during the night. By carefully peeling > each page back, I was able to continue reading though the ink often > bled through from the back side and blurred the words. > > I heard a laugh behind me and turned to see Arnie watching me. Arnie > was a few years older than me and I knew him to be a Vietnam veteran > though he never mentioned it. I only knew on account of an old > yellowed article mounted in a picture frame and hung on the wall > behind the counter with a grainy photo of Arnie standing among a group > of soldiers. He looked younger and somehow fresher. > > The article told how Arnie had been awarded the medal of honor for > actions above and beyond the call of duty in the land of Vietnam. > Since I couldn't see Arnie doing it, I imagined that Eldon had mounted > the article in the frame and hung it on the wall but I learned later > it was actually Arnie's sister, Lynn. She didn't come around the shop > much as she was away at college but from time to time she'd stop and > visit with Arnie. She never said a word to me and indeed I was quite > sure she had no idea I even existed. > > "What'cha reading there?" Arnie asked, still chortling at my efforts > to read a water-logged book. > > "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," I told him. I held up the > detached cover for him to see. > > "What's it about?" > > "Well, I haven't finished reading it yet but it's about a motorcycle > trip a father and son make across the country with a couple friends. > The father is battling mental illness. He's be institutionalized and > given shock treatments. Now, he's struggling to regain his identity. > He's not the person he used to be, and his son knows it." > > "How about motorcycle maintenance? Does it give any pointers on that?" > > "No," I said, "Not really." > > "Why is it named Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance?" > > "Well, there's a tension between the author and the friend who's > traveling with him. The author does all his own motorcycle maintenance > while the other fellow doesn't. He relies on the integrity of his > bike, trusting that it won't break down or need servicing. The author > travels with a toolkit and is fully prepared to make all his own > repairs. > > "There's also a tension between the author and his friends in that > they knew "him" before his institutionalization and subsequent shock > treatments meant to obliterate the old personality so a new one could > flourish. The author is never quite sure what his old friends remember > or what they think of the "new" him. > > "On top of all that, the author states that the world isn't made up of > subjects and objects as is commonly supposed, but rather it is made up > of Quality. He ties this in with zen teachings, though really there's > not much about zen in the book either. At least not so far." > > I recall Arnie being a bit taken aback at all this. He seemed > particularly interested in the author's institutionalization, though. > > "Did he check himself in?" Arnie asked. > > "No. He was forcibly committed, from what I've read so far." > > "Why?' > > "Well, things had been building for a while, I guess, and finally, he > wrote how he was sitting alone for three days. He didn't get up and go > to the bathroom but just sat in his own piss. And he let cigarettes > burn down to his fingers, causing blisters all over his hands. So his > family worried that he was a danger to himself and possibly others and > had him committed." > > "The family must have been wealthy," Arnie said. "Otherwise he would > have ended up in jail." > > One day Arnie poked his head into the back room where I worked and > asked me to come up front. Lynn was standing outside and as usual did > not acknowledge me at all. Arnie asked if I'd watch the counter for a > while as he was going out back with his sister to show her how to > shoot a gun. Apparently there'd been some rapes on campus where Lynn > attended college and she was concerned with her safety. Arnie left for > an hour or so and then returned. > > That day, when I left for home, I noticed Lynn's car was still in the > parking lot. I thought it odd and considered for a moment going back > in and telling Arnie but then I rationalized to myself that he knew > she was still there, so I left. > > The next morning, the door to the shop was locked and Arnie was > nowhere to be seen. I waited. Lynn's car still sat there. Arnie's > truck sat there too. I had a bad feeling; the longer I sat there, the > worse the feeling grew. I got out and walked around the back of the > shop. I noticed a police car sitting out in the field... no, two > police cars, and men milling about. One of them looked to be Arnie. I > walked out there to see what was up. > > Arnie's eyes were red, his shoulders hunched as if he carried a > hundred pound sack over them. Lynn was dead, he told me when I > approached. What?!? I said. She shot herself through the heart, he > said, his voice breaking. I was dumbfounded. There was nothing to say. > A policeman walked up to me and asked me my business. I told him I > worked there. He took my name and phone number then walked away. > > I didn't know what else to do so I went back to the shop and sat in my > car. I saw Eldon coming up the path from the house. He was obviously > very drunk and could barely walk. He kind of waved at me and stumbled > into the shop. I followed, though with intense feelings of > trepidation. > > "Her mother killed herself too," Eldon said. I looked around. There > was no one else there so he must be talking to me, I thought. > > "What?" I stammered. I knew what he said. I just didn't understand. > > "When the kids were little, their mother dropped them off at school > one morning, and then drove her car into a pond and drowned herself." > > "Oh no," I said. Things were starting to come together... Arnie's > interest in madness, Eldon's drinking, Lynn's seeming shyness. > > "Here," Eldon said, holding out some money. "Arnie told me to pay you > up. We won't be needing any help for a while though. I'm sorry." > > "I'm sorry too, sir," I told him. "I enjoyed working here, thank you." > > He waved me off again, so I walked out of the shop, got in the car, > and drove away. Sometime later I recalled that I had left my book > there but I never went back. I thought maybe Arnie might get something > out of it. > > BTW, >> who _are_ you anyway? <grin> > > I am all these things, sadness, madness, laughter and sorrow. All > these feelings populate my mind and guide me on the way. I look back > where I've been but it all seems a dream. > > Who am I, indeed. > > Thanks for reading, > > Dan > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org/md/archives.html > Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org/md/archives.html
