I started writing this column on July 4th, exactly 250 years after our Founders signed America’s Declaration of Independence. The second sentence of that document asserts, among other things, that all men are created equal and that governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed.
At the time, it was far from a done deal, and even today we are obviously still struggling with how these once radical ideas ought to play out in everyday life. But, from day one, that audacious sentence created a powerful roadmap for our country and, soon, for much of the world. On this 250th anniversary, dozens of governments are implementing, or at least aspiring to, these ideals to varying degrees. It’s been called “the greatest sentence ever written.” And yet . . .
Earlier in the week, Niki and I stayed at a barless hotel in Georgetown. Niki wanted a glass of wine after dinner, so we went to the only liquor store in town. We arrived just before closing, took a bottle from a shelf and went to the counter to pay for it. On that counter sat a jar labeled “Tips,” seeded with a couple of dollar bills. Not wanting to encourage the great American tipping trend, we didn’t add to the jar, but my heart was suddenly broken, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.
I’m not sure why. I’ve ignored such jars in other markets without a thought. I’ve seen them in bike shops, where I’ve occasionally added to them when a mechanic helped me beyond my expectations. I think it was the neatly dressed, tired looking middle-aged man behind that counter so obviously, and yet so politely, waiting to leave work. He took our money, wished us a good evening, followed us out the door and locked it.
Presumably, he took the pittance from the jar, but I didn’t see that. I did see him rush into an old car and drive out of the parking lot ahead of us. Where, I wondered, was he going? Was anyone waiting for him? We followed him out of the lot, on to our upscale hotel.
Yes, this was an outstandingly pathetic tip jar. But why should I tip someone just for taking my money?
As a child on Manhattan’s Midtown West side, my grandmother sometimes took me to the Woolworth five and dime store, where a legless man selling pencils was often planted on the sidewalk. My grandmother, whose only income was her small monthly Social Security check, invariably placed a few cents in his upturned cap, but she never took a pencil. She took pity.
I feel guilty because, on July 2nd, I didn’t take pity, even though I was sure the man’s salary didn’t support much. But more than guilt, I feel anger.
Why doesn’t the owner pay this man more and charge us enough to make that possible? I’ve visited many democracies on four continents, and communist countries on two, without seeing tip jars. “Only in America”, as they say.
Two neighbors recently sold their ordinary Carbondale homes for just north and south of a million, in favor of cheaper houses elsewhere. Their profits will help fund their retirements, and, while they aren’t complaining, they are sad to be cashing out their homes and leaving their communities to keep their modest lifestyles. But they are also reluctant to put tip jars on their porches or sit in their driveways with upturned caps and pencils in order to pay ever–rising property taxes.
Aspen accommodates about 80 billionaires with a combined wealth of nearly $680 billion dollars. “The billionaires,” I often hear, “are pushing the millionaires down-valley.” It sure seems that way. Just ask my neighbors.
Like those neighbors, I’m not complaining either. America has worked out well for me, for my family and my friends. But still, tip jars, pencils and 80 billionaires in a mountain town of less than 6,500? Is that what our Founders envisioned when they wrote the greatest sentence?
How did we get here? Blaming the super-rich is fashionable and there’s some truth to it, but I think that many of us, including me, have been all too willing to stand apart from people we considered intellectually inferior, and whose spiritual values we didn’t share. How can we get back on the greatest sentence’s roadmap?
The Statue of Liberty symbolically faces the ocean, from whence came the teeming masses she was built to welcome. This fact struck me on July 5th, as I listened to the modern opera “Nixon in China.” The character of President Nixon’s wife, Pat, sang:
“Let the expression on the face
Of the Statue of Liberty
Change just a little. Let her see.
What lies inland, across the plain.”
I wonder, have we spent so much time looking in one direction that we didn’t notice the economic dignity of those standing behind us being ground into dust?
Here’s wishing you a thoughtful and Happy Birthday, USA, and many more to come!
Mature Content is a monthly feature from Age-Friendly Carbondale.