Comic Belief: Leave It to Beaver

A college president friend of mine called and asked me, “Do you believe in free speech?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Good. Do you believe in education?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Good. I want you to make a free speech for education at my university.” On this particular occasion I agreed.

One of the college students picked me up at the airport. His car was a cross between an old clunker and a bicycle. I knew I was in trouble when the student asked me not only to buckle my seatbelt but also to put on a helmet. He said we would have to reach top speed in order to merge onto the interstate.

As we left the airport for the university, I heard a loud boom. It sounded like a truck backfiring. The student said, “Oh, man, that’s my car.” He pulled over, and as the car died he asked me what to do. I said, “I don’t know. In times like these, guys are supposed to raise the hood and look inside.” That’s what we did. Then he asked, “What do we do now?” I said, “I don’t know. If spraying WD-40 doesn’t work, then I don’t have a clue. I suggest we try to find a phone.” The next exit with a service station was a long way away, so I got out my suitcase and put on my sneakers. I was dressed to give a speech, so now I had on a nice suit and tie with sneakers. It was the dork look.

We walked down the road, and as we got to the exit, I realized this was not a safe area of town. It made me nervous. The traffic light didn’t say “Walk” and “Don’t walk,” it said “Run for your life.” The convenience store had a metal detector. I knew this was going to be tough. It looked as if we could walk another three blocks without ever leaving the scene of a crime. No policemen were at the doughnut shop.

We found a store with a telephone outside the door. When the telephone area code is 911, you know it’s not a good part of town. Several guys were standing around the telephone, and I looked for the one who looked as if he had been out of the prison-release program the longest. There wasn’t much of a choice. I finally asked one man, “Does that telephone work?” He said, “You can call out, but no one can call in.” I was trying to make conversation, hoping this guy might eventually help me. I asked, “Why is that?” trying to be nice. He addressed me as “Beaver.” I don’t know why he called me Beaver. Maybe it was from “Leave It to Beaver.” Maybe I looked like a beaver. I don’t know, but he said, “Beaver,” and I answered to that. I would have answered to anything under those circumstances. “Beaver,” he said, “the reason no one can call in is because they sell drugs here.” I thought I would get the best possible spin on this, so I said, “Well, do you have a drug store here? Maybe there is a hospital close by. Maybe I can get a cab.” He looked at me and said, “Beaver, they sell illegal drugs here.” I asked, “Is there any chance of getting a cab to come out here?” He said, “Beaver, pizza isn’t even delivered to this part of town.”

It was an interesting hour as we slowly watched the graffiti change colors in the sunset. I knew we would eventually be rescued, and we were. I also realized that I liked the guy who looked like he was from the release program, and he probably liked me, too. As I left, I wondered what he felt like knowing that he would probably never be rescued in this world. I also thought that maybe I should wear sneakers more often than dress shoes, and maybe I should visit more places where people need help rather than just going to places where I feel welcome.