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Commentary...
WHY
I'M A DEMOCRAT
BY DR. CHRIS LAMB
I don't know exactly when I became a Democrat but, if there was such a moment,
it probably came when I was driving a cab during the late spring of 1982.
I was standing outside a
bus station shortly after midnight one morning with three other cabbies. Two were
middle-aged guys who had probably been driving cabs for years. The other was younger
than I. He was wearing khakis and an Izod shirt. He looked like he had taken a
wrong turn at fraternity row. At
some point, a woman staggered out of bar across the street and began walking toward
us. When I noticed her again, I was surprised how little progress she'd made.
I then saw why. She would take a step or two forward and then one to the side,
or maybe backward. I chuckled. I had just seen "To Kill a Mockingbird,"
where there's a scene with a rabid dog that creeps unsteadily down a street. The
woman reminded me of that dog. The
four of us continued to wait quietly in the fog. The only thing moving was the
woman -- and she was barely moving. As
she crossed the street, she passed under a light. For the first time, I got a
good look. She resembled the mother in the movie, "Throw Mama from the Train."
Her wild gray hair hadn't seen a brush since the world was young and her lifeless
face was scrunched up like an accordion. She had the thumb of her right hand in
her toothless mouth and her index finger was pushed up into her nose. She
kept coming toward us, two steps forward, one step to the side, like a dance step
on Valium. As she got closer, I became anxious - not scared - but a little anxious.
I had never seen anyone so sad. I
thought she probably knew the older cab drivers and was on her way to see them.
But when she got within 10 feet, the older guys walked away, leaving me and the
frat guy to deal with her. She stopped about a foot from us, stared, and then
pulled away her hand from her face. "I've
never had a baby," she said quietly. Those
few words tingled my spine and extremities as if I'd just jumped into an ice-cold
lake. I tried to say something but I couldn't. "I've
never had a baby either," the guy in the khakis and Izod shirt said with
a chuckle. "But who needs them? They're nothing but trouble."
I
wished I'd said that. But
she continued to stand there, staring. I wanted to walk away but I couldn't move.
Then she spoke again. "I've
always wanted a baby," she said. This
time her voice was even quieter and sadder. Again, I couldn't say anything. I
hoped the other guy would say something. "Ma'am,"
he said, "I can't give you a baby. But I can buy you a cup of coffee."
He then gently took her
by the arm and they walked into the bus station.
I didn't see either the woman
or cab driver again. But I often think about that night. Sometimes, if I see somebody
doing something nice for someone, I think about that guy in the khakis and Izod
shirt. Sometimes, when I do something nice for someone, I think about him. How
can you see something like that and not be changed? And
on that night, I think, is when I became a Democrat. The
Democratic Party, when it is at its best, provides a cup of humanity to those
who need it. It feeds those who are hungry. It protects those who need protecting.
It provides hope for those who have lost theirs. And, by doing so, we are reminded
that there, but for the grace of God, any one of us could be that woman in the
darkness. Dr.
Chris Lamb is an assistant professor of communication at the College of Charleston.
He lives in Mount Pleasant.
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