The Wretched Refuse

Throughout my life I've spent a lot of time with underdogs. The tired. The poor. Huddled masses yearning to be free. The wretched refuse of teeming shores ... the homeless and tempest tossed ... All of the people that America used to welcome with a lifted lamp beside its golden door but ... doesn't anymore.

Yesterday I spent a few minutes marching in the Savannah Founder's Day Parade with a bunch of first graders. They were dressed as Pilgrims, Indians or in school uniforms. It was impromptu as I held the hand of a little girl who was holding the hand of a little boy, I started dancing and singing.

There she comes just a' walking down the street singing

Do-Wah-Diddy-Diddy-Do-Ditty Dum

Snappin' her fingers and shuffling her feet

The kids started laughing. Their teacher gave me the evil eye.

"Come On!" I yelled snapping my fingers and shuffling my feet," EVERYBODY!"

The teacher with the evil eye rushed the tiny Pilgrims, Indians and Preppy kids away from me. They continued to laugh though and I felt good showing them that you don't always have to be so regimental about things.

I love the movie Stripes with Bill Murray and Harold Ramis and the whole Do-Wah-Diddy thing was blatantly stolen from it. It was fun to introduce it to first graders.

Then in the middle of the night I lay thinking about the little Indians holding the hands of little Pilgrims who were holding the hands of the little Preppies who refused to be costumed. They were black and white ... rich and poor ... yet too young and innocent to care There's always hope the next generation will get it right cause ours sure as hell hasn't.

Somewhere in the darkness, Bill Murray popped into my head. "We are the wretched refuse, the stupid ... we're mutts. We're Americans with a capital A which means that our forefathers got kicked out of every decent country in the world."

And we rose to be the greatest nation ever ... with nothing but ourselves to rely on. Wretched refuse was enough.

I live on the vacation paradise of Tybee Island. It's home to a mix of people who normally wouldn't be caught dead together. Old Savannah families who kept the island as their private retreat for generations. New comers who relocated to the warmer sub-tropical climate with retirement funds ... and the others.

I've been spending much more time with the others lately ... bartenders and Bar-flies ... waitresses and hotel clerks ... maids and yard keepers ... those who hit nails straight and those who bend them for a living ... musicians and artists ... folks on fixed incomes and folks looking for fixes. The wretched refuse.

I marvel at them.

The only thing they have going for themselves is ... themselves and each other. Every month they struggle to pay to rent yet somehow they do. They're quick to give money and to forgive when its not paid back. Food is shifted from refrigerator to refrigerator. Passenger side seats are filled with those who don't own a car ... They are Statue of Liberty kind of people.

They are more Biblical than most and on Sundays they gather in a Bar for Church. Breakfast is served because no one believes that everyone there will have the a full meal even on a Sunday. Hugs are freely distributed, forgiveness of the previous nights sins quickly acknowledged and dispensed, hymns are sung while Davy beats the hell out of the drum. Dancing often breaks out. Smokers, flip-flops are welcome and communion can break out at anytime by anyone.

While we don't really mean it anymore, the Statue of Liberty still hold the lifted lamp beside the golden door for the wretched refuse ... my kind of people.