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Best Christmas gift I've ever had
"Whatever we do, the environment should be the centerpiece"
Wangari Maathai, Nobel Nobel Peace Prize Laureate
Prologue
Most of us involved in the way the capitalist economy to live beyond our environmental budget. Our buildings consume more materials, air-con our energy and our resources more cars than any humans can justify on a balance of the environment.
It's a tribal thing ego-driven. Most of ego between us succumbing to one of the addictions darker and common humanity – the accumulation of money and flaunting much more than sheer ability to consume in a desperate attempt to demonstrate "value."
Like the heroin addict, addicts to make money as necessary to meet the need.
In the absence of basic human values, a value becomes a numbers game, consuming more of our land resources that anyone can rationalize. The more money into the financial credit card, the greater the ability to consume, feeding the ego wrong with a stronger need than cocaine. Traffickers most ruthless money just flexing its material wealth – which complicates things, millions of people still hang Thorsten Veblen in a frenzy of conspicuous consumption prove "that I did too."
There is nothing wrong with money, unless someone over what can happen at the expense of workers, customers and the environment. We have all the money in the world, but do not buy the position of human decency or environmental balance.
That do not fight, condemns the excessive use both our species and our planet. Elegant understatement is the key to our survival as a species.
Work Hawaii boardrooms, learned that is not necessary to be ruthless predators ego-driven to succeed. My heroes of business had big hearts and low use resources down to earth. They found that honey attracts more flies than vinegar, and hard-ass managers are simply hiding their incompetence. Coincidentally, spent more time giving away his money that made the shot.
As this cartoon shows, there are more ways to measure worth the money.
"Best Christmas gift I've ever had."
In days of fellowship, times were lean. School holidays me and my backpack found hitchhiking on a trip somewhere accessible from LA In the quarter system, UCLA winter breaks were almost a month, plenty of time to hitchhike deep into Mexico.
I had $ 50 and a backpack full of peanut butter to last a month, and wanted to see how far I could go to south. Pesos Twelve with the dollar, and I could live forever in the peanut butter and steaming hot corn tortillas directly from the village Tortillaria. Each town has a tortillaria, but it's a real pleasure to find a town with banana bread clay oven. It comes every hour on the hour, so good when I can inhale steam two slices immediately – without butter, jam or a knife – just things in and "broke da mouth, Brah" I learned to say later in Hawaii. Until a poor student can live forever in banana bread and peanut butter tortillas.
On the outskirts of Mazatlan, I have a ride with a truck all the way to Mexico City. I could be there overnight and then to a fishing village on the southern coast of Acapulco exuberant.
We stopped at a red light, two hours south of Mazatlan. An oyster stand was out of the car. I could almost reach out the window and grab a few oysters, but I have a lifelong phobia of eating seafood, guts and all. No matter how decorated chef Oysters Rockefeller, slimy creatures continue to be without substance.
For some unknown reason decided to try these molluscs. On an impulse I gave up my trip, said Thank you!, Grabbed my backpack, and jumped from the cab oyster stand.
The light turned green. My new friend gave me a last gesture, he said goodbye and disappeared into a cloud of dust. What was thinking? It was my trip to Mexico City.
I turned and grabbed a tray oyster. How stupid. I give one of the best rides of my life to discover Mexico oysters were the same as their cousins in California. It is Rocket Science!
I surveyed the surroundings, a traffic light crossroads of Highway One, the main thoroughfare to the west coast of Mexico. This was continental – I had no interest. However, it was the road west of the coast. An extension cord, literally, ran by stakes driven into the ground beside the road that winds through what I could see. The length was rare that apparatus so weak, so I asked the oyster dealer history.
I learned there was a fishing village 40 km from the way. The extension cord which carry electricity to the village, and the lights were scheduled to brighten the town for the first time on Christmas Eve, nearly a week away.
What kind of Christmas Break! I've been in three villages at the time of electrification now, but this was my first time. This could be a real adventure, so turned right and pulled the thumb on a road with little traffic. The road visited several agricultural villages on the road – not much traffic and all stops short. I was an imposing figure and not in my late 20's – Rugby in shape, almost two meters, with hair to my waist and beard almost as far. On campus, women beautiful I said they were jealous of my long hair and bright. Actually, I was a scruffy mountain man than a fashion statement, and when I hitchhiked the Mexican coast was always Jesus Christ or Santa Claus to the locals!
It took half a dozen trips through this flat farming country to reach final map. Each driver made the unusual hitchhiker where he was going. Every time I said I was only following the extension cable. Their faces lit – Ah, you're going to the village that goes electric on Christmas Eve!
It was big news in this neighborhood.
I finally arrived to the city. Not much. Green fields stretched behind the town, built around an austere town square headed by a beach and an estuary where the road ended and began fishing boats.
This place was as simple as that – and there was another American. Ph.D. anthropologist at Texas A candidate was completing a study of six months. He chose the perfect people for inshore fishing their studies, and later discovered that it was primarily agricultural. Not realize it, but the speaker bad Spanish academic eggheads was seen by villagers as a kind of buffoon, and were always playing with his studies, responding to his "observations" with jokes and stories within ridiculous. Instead of staying for an event anthropological truth – the electrification of the community under study – are headed our future anthropologist home for Christmas dinner. The villagers fired him politely but silently questioning his academic commitment.
Instinctively camped on the beach 200 meters village, and walked past the house of the shrimp boat captain every day. The richest and most powerful man in the village, with the largest "home" right on the beach, the captain had a barrel full of dried shrimp at the table in the walled courtyard, and a lot of warm beer. On my third day, I invited to drink beer and shrimp, a ritual we enjoyed every evening during the next three weeks.
Soon, college students Guadalajara and Mexico City joined us. I learned from the emerging modern Mexico in the 70s, children of farmers are going to college to train as engineers, teachers, doctors and pharmacists to see the benefits of the "Drinking Water" projects that had been fifteen years earlier.
Forty years after Pancho Villa, Mexico was growing, thanks to the adventures of my family, I lived downstairs from the late 50s. Now the first profit generation go to college – my friends drinking.
The stage was still traditional in Mexico. The captain got a real decline of its sponsorship of the Gringo. Within its adobe walls, we sat at a large table of solid wood with non-stop beer and shrimp box. Across the courtyard, women of the family sat in the kitchen door to decide whether it was Santa or Jesus. In this rural patriarchal culture, women were light years away from release female. I wondered if her sisters UCLA understand the difference between the two neighboring worlds, or appreciated their own incredible opportunities in California progressive society.
I still had a good time, flirting from afar with the 20 and some of my own generation, fully understanding that as far as could go.
The anthropologist was the great theme of the patio table. The students were very happy to tell stories of scientific leaders by dusty roads to nowhere, to the sites of "great importance" of how absurd invented agriculture and fishing techniques and humorous stories to woo teenagers strategies in an era of a new society. They verified the innocent anthropologist had no idea about his antics tongue in cheek.
University Worth children around the world has a mischievous streak innocent showing creativity and apex, especially in a rural village yet without electricity.
When my new friends I learned was from Los Angeles, or Hollywood, he was asked if he knew Tom Jones, Englebert Humperdink and Carlos Santana. It was no surprise – these three were the stars of the Mexican pop culture of the day. Carlos I photograph a concert stage in Agricultural Workers Together, and took my pictures every time classic hitchhike Mexico both foreground and full stage arm in arm with Cesar Chavez. The kids went crazy, and certainly gained acceptance in local society – no anthropologist bonehead here.
But Tom Jones and Englebert Humperdink?
Definitely, bonded, and then came the big day – on Christmas Eve.
A series of 20 very basic electric lights hanging from a chain of outlets and electrical cable were hanging around the town square. Although it was the main town in the final quarter of the road, city was not yet full, but in the people appointed day sat in the square for hours before total darkness, waiting to turn on the lights.
The Children's University gathered on the beach and enjoyed a beautiful sunset, passing around bottles of beer donated by skinny shrimp boat captain. They went to school in Guadalajara and had seen it all before.
As the red last disappeared from the horizon, we walked to the plaza. Obviously, everyone was there. As the last light of day fell into the darkness, the mayor flipped the switch, and the square came to life. Unlike college girls, most of the villagers had never left his village, and had never seen incandescent light. When it happened – in a moment – a cry of universal energy shock of the square. The lights were definitely not shiny glaze.
Someone started to walk around the square clockwise. Each member of the ambulance people, including me, soon joined him. It was fantastic. I was a head taller than anyone else, and his hair enough to cover all the others combined, so I looked through a sea of hats as we all move in the same direction.
When I was tired of walking in a circle, it was time to play Santa Claus. I put a red shirt, red cap population, a can of white hair spray and small purse.
Where I was in Mexico for Christmas Eve, I bought all wrapped penny candy I could find. Armed with long hair and white beard, hat and red shirt, and a bag of 10 kilos of candy over his shoulder, I entered a different square Mexican people every Christmas Eve of the 70s. The script always rules.
Village children see pictures of Santa, but never a real live Santa Claus.
When I went into a town square and start handing out candy, the children were brought up naturally ordered for about a minute. All children under 12 years could smell the sweet, and gave me the snacks first one at a time, put a candy in the palm and a smile on his brain. I was soon surrounded by a sea of jumping, screaming, laughing children. At that time, I reached into the bag, grabbed a handful, and started throwing candy like raindrops (hence wrapped candy only.) The scene became a madhouse of laughter as children grabbed the air to fly sweet dove or most of the candy that ended on the floor.
Then the smartest children find out where the sweet wine. Children start going for the bag to grab my arms and legs up to my shoulder. I kept grabbing and throwing sweet with a maximum of three children hanging on each arm, praying that would be without candy before I swarmed by a sea of kids laughing and shouting "! Santa Claus Santa Claus! "Eventually, they always overwhelmed me and I collapsed in a sea of excited children.
It was great. What a way wonderful and positive to celebrate Christmas – much better than any turkey dinner, quiet and nice to people who saw only once a year.
This time, a true life appeared in the Santa village on the same night the electric lights. What a miracle, perhaps more to me than the kids in town!
Christmas morning was hotter than hell, a great day for the rock concert of the city first, with a concert Rock N 'Roll Band.
Well, almost a band. They do not speak English, but made a valiant attempt to memorize the words. No talking or music, but made a valiant attempt at that. The group was far of the great California Flower Power concerts from the 60's and 70's, but still gave them points for trying even a band in these parts.
Never forget his rendition of "Tom Jones She's A Lady, by far the worst piece of music I've heard – but one of the best souvenirs.
The band formed in the side of a shop, the dance floor was a dirt road, and the band earned money by running a rope through the dance floor each few songs. When the dancers came on line, they paid a dollar. About a dozen of us college girls sat in a restaurant fronds coco passed the hat every half hour to buy a beer skinny, take a sip, and pass it on. Our only issue was to find out the pattern of the string collection so that I could dance without pay.
By midafternoon, two major Winnebago crossed the village square, with all the bells and whistles. Both had motor scooters mounted on the front bumper and dragging small outboard boats. It was a shock. No villager had seen nothing like this, so they were very excited. I had a more sinister feeling – Central America could mud up this perfect Christmas. The campers continued up to the estuary and I expected that is where they would stay.
Teams just do not seem to fit the occupants with local people, and this was a very special Christmas.
An hour later, Louisiana rednecks invaded our Christmas Party. They came almost comical fashion, a fat, overweight couple, middle-aged in each bike. Spouses they were going, definitely drunk, laughing with their wives in the passenger seat as they drove to the party in corkscrew patterns, almost falling over several times.
The first motorcycle drove right into the center of the dancers, where it crashed in the middle of the dance floor. What large, typically redneck, entry totally embarrassing. Remember that this demographic is the basis of Bush policy. At this very moment, "W" was a child of fraternity alcohol evading the National Guard while Nixon was spreading the Vietnam War as long as possible.
Despite from its shameful behavior, educated Mexican peasants bent to help drunken motorists, who approached yelling about how the dancers got in his way. Rejecting the helping hand, the couple got up, dusted himself off, and left his bike on the ground in the center of the dance floor, leaking fuel on the ground. The cries her husband started pushing the dancers out of their way to clear an open space to dance without tripping over his own bike. Was taken from Hollyweird, except that this scene was tragically real.
When the rope came, the drunken husband tripped over the cord without realizing their purpose. When the manager explained gestures, the millionaire took out a wad of money from his pocket, and shouted: "I have all the money in the world, but I'm not going to pay a dollar for this music shit." Then he met a couple politely trying to ignore it.
They were loud, rude, spoke of the South and the guy literally had a neck red, arrogant, ignorant people who voted Bush in the White House and were stupid enough to re-elect him. He was one of those moments that make decent people ashamed to be American, so I slid on the bench in the shade, trying to be invisible.
We spent our own "Hat", bought another beer skinny, and I took my drink. It would take more than a sip of beer to lessen the embarrassment created by my countrymen.
Then I saw the Redneck. He stood in his turns, he stopped dancing and went straight to our table with his fists clenched, arms swaying like a certain cartoon Porky. I never said a word and tried to ignore him, but did not work. He walked under the coconut leaves, directly above the table from me. I was happy to table separated us. I was 28, playing the national rugby championship, and he became a drunkard short, fat middle-aged. I did not want to be forced into a physical confrontation on one side at Christmas.
"You know what's wrong with you fucking hippies? Just do not give a shit money. "
"It's Christmas." I replied. "We're going to relax and have a good time." Where are you? "
Mr. Redneck turned to me. "I am a Louisiana oil millionaire, and I know that money is everything. You fucking hippies are not even dog shit – - – because just do not care the money. "
All college girls were sitting on the wooden table, six on each side. While the red neck harassed me, my friends were asking in Spanish, "You two are American. Why is making a problem for you?"
Rural Mexicans are too polite to consider such conduct.
As I explained that all Americans are not the same Mr Red Neck he shouted, "Hey Hippie, I'm talking to you. You just do not give a shit money."
"Listen, I'm a student scholarship at UCLA, and I care about the money, but not everything, and this is Christmas. Relax and let these people enjoy their vacation. "
"Damn Hippie, everything is all about money."
The Redneck shameful neglect was starting to annoy me, but not in a physical way. This was Christmas, and I just wanted the people to enjoy the most important day in its history.
I replied: "Money can buy material things, but can not buy the most important things in life, like love. "
"Want to bet? Baby come here. "He took his wife's arm, pulled her close to him, looked into my eyes and said:" The insurance money can buy love, "said The Mr. Redneck. "Is not honey!" Squeeze shame his wife on the shoulder so hard I worried about the head might pop up. I was really remorseful and embarrassed by it.
"Well maybe money can buy what you think is love, but money probably can not buy friendship. "
"Oh, Really?" Said Louisiana. "Look at this."
"Beer for everyone in the house! "Mr. Millionaire gallantly waved his arm over the whole table like a magic wand.
It was a clever ploy. The day was hot, the table was full of young male college students, and we were so poor there was only a weak beer bottle on the table – empty. We were all sweating in the heat, and cold beer at Christmas for each student heaven.
I was willing to play the peacemaker. If this man bought a round for everyone could shut up and to satisfy our thirst.
He said in Spanish, "Come on, guys, just forget this asshole, I take this opportunity for this gentle tug and enjoy a cold beer. "
I was surprised when all Heads shook "no."
In Spanish he explained: "Each of us wants a cold beer. We all know that this type is a fool, so it will not change our friendship if you enjoy a beer. "
Long faces still shook their heads no.
"Okay, guys, come in a Christmas beer."
Nothing worked. Then, in perfect English I've never heard in the previous week, an engineering student replied. "Hey, Gringo. Really do not care how much money you have, but you offended our friend – and not sufficiently good to drink with us in the first place!
"We do not want your beer millionaire."
Mr Redneck was the state shock. Like many of the rich and powerful, who bought a comfort zone for pimps who really do not want your friendship, but were willing to brown-nose by your money. To do this, they sold their friendship and dignity. It is a common clique, the tycoon and his "trust drivers to" say what you want to hear.
Even in this small poor village in Mexico electrified less than 24 hours earlier, Mr. Millionaire finally met people so proud they could not be bought.
He looked at his wife and said, "Come on, baby, let's get outta here." Met the other couple and both bikes went out the party and back to the estuary.
An hour later, two Winnebago led out of town.
The integrity of simple villagers refuse a free beer cold on a hot day left me with a friendship and a sense of the increasingly no money can buy. To this day, continues to be a Christmas gift more important than any material gift
I stayed in the village for ten days, until it began new school in Guadalajara. Every night, the boys from the University went to the Plaza to see the people walk around the fountain until midnight.
It was always left, but the boys of the University, at least, everyone knew that once the electricity came, there was no turning back.
# # # # #
A decade later, he frequented the Fortune 500 boardrooms, not in Louisiana, but in Honolulu. Aloha shirts, no suit and ties are standard attire, and management practices are as professionals – maybe more. At least until I went Alohaland in 1989, the typical game able hard-ass fool had no chance of becoming a director of a corporation based in Hawaii (except for Harry Weinburg, who bought his way Alexander & Baldwin on board.)
My clients were very successful money to burn, but never bought a friend. Spirit Filled Aloha, I had to do it.
About the Author
John “Caveman” Gray, AKA Ling Yai (Thai for Big Monkey)was first published nationally in the USA in 1957 in Parade Magazine. He’s been writing, photographing and producing videos ever since. His stories have appeared in numerous national and international magazines and newspapers on everything from Science to politics and travel. You can catch many more stories in the “Readings” section at www.johngray-seacanoe.com
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