One of my frequent correspondents here is a gentleman named James H. Burns. He just sent me this and I thought it belonged here…
I'm pretty sure we had been in a few of the same places, over the years. But the only time we met, was almost exactly two years ago, over at Manhattan's York Theatre, for their concert presentation of his God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater.
At intermission, I made my normal bee-line for the exits, looking to catch my smoke. The elevator was completely down, which didn't particularly affect me, as I'll normally do that Bataan death march of stairs, a few flights up, through the veins of the church. But I was more than surprised to find the eighty-something Vonnegut already on the stairs, ahead of me. (I couldn't help but reflect on the theatres' inherent cruelty to our seniors.)
But those of us who are addicted to tobacco will not only walk a mile but do it uphill, and I think Vonnegut and I both found it odd to be
outside St. Peter's, two guys so seperated by decades, smoking the same filter-less brand. We chatted on the sources of addiction, and how it might well be tobacco, in tandem with other chemicals, that affect some folks, and not others…and how so much of everything, might just be based on genetics. He also told me something I had forgotten, how during World War II, a soldier's mess kit, his K-rations, rather, also included some smokes. We also chatted a bit, I think, on how some people have taken their stance against smoking as a license to rudeness…But the overwhelming effect, the presence of the man, was one of gentleness. As we spoke of other things, within the strange camaraderie of those whose addiction has driven them to the streets, I knew that he was also delighted that at that very special night in the theatre, he was able to share it with his daughter.
If the aliens ever do land, or some future sociologist — terrestrial or otherwise — tries to make sense of what was once the twentieth century, he'll find Vonnegut a particularly humanistic purveyor of the future, and worlds that a sidewise slip in time might still find a-borning.