Guaging Trust

Shopping cart blocks a vacant check-out isle.

    Are minorities trusted less?
    Yesterday I visited a market. Call it Store 1. It’s not my usual shopping destination.
    Two check-out isles weren’t in use. They were situated near the exit of the store. Physical barriers, including a shopping cart, obstructed movement through those isles.
    Chances are, the isles were blocked to prevent stealing. A thief could easily make off with a cart full of food.
    I usually shop in a market twelve miles away. Call it Store 2. That market is owned by the same company. Prices are identical. But one aspect is different. Empty isles are not blocked.
    Why the difference in trust?
    Do ethnic perceptions factor in? Many of the customers in Store 1 are minorities. Most of the customers at Store 2 are whites like me.
    Or is the difference in trust attributable to mathematics? The number of thefts might be greater at Store 1 than at Store 2. Preventing theft makes sense.
   In my opinion, minorities are trusted less in this country. But jumping to that conclusion in every situation is wrong.

Jaded on Sports

    These men are sports finance executives. I photographed them inside an arena in Boston.
    After the portrait session, my curiosity got the best of me. I visited the luxury seating area. Nobody was around. The arena was empty. I was impressed by the view from the luxury seats. But the vibe left me cold. Physical barriers ensured that nobody from the cheaper seats could wander anywhere near those expensive seats.
    There was a time when all fans—rich and poor—mingled in common areas like concessions and bathrooms. Nowadays, luxury suites segregate fans. Keep the rabble away from the rich.
    When I was a teen, a Boston Red Sox ticket cost around five dollars. Today the average price is 52 dollars.
    No longer do I attend pro sports events. Rarely do I watch them on television. The reasons are myriad. But in the final analysis, the greed of professional sports turned me away.

Keeping Their Cool

    Ever try resolving an issue with a corporation? The process is aggravating. You go through hoops to get a real human being on the telephone.
    Sometimes that person is a foreigner. His English speaking abilities are lousy. You grit your teeth, realizing the conversation will be difficult.
    Aside from all that, it’s hard to receive a satisfying outcome to your problem.
    Imagine if someone else complained for you?
    A husband and wife team (in the photo) made a living by complaining for consumers. For an hourly fee, they made the phone calls, and went through those hoops, until their clients issues were settled. I photographed them inside their home in Massachusetts.
    This twosome were expert complainers. As such, they were attune to the nuances of persuasion. They cited assertiveness and persistence as crucial traits.
    Shouting, threatening, and swearing were never done. They understood that the people on the other end of the line—phone reps at corporate calling centers—were swayed by emotions. A sweet approach boosted the couple’s success rate.
    Assertiveness is preferable to aggressiveness.

Turkey Tales

    Wild turkeys are hard to predict. 
    Yesterday, one stood beside a driveway in my town. I ventured close for a photo (seen above). The bird payed me little heed.
    On another occasion, I crept near a group—or peck— of them. They were moving among woods. They saw me and attacked. I beat a hasty retreat.
    Once I parked in the driveway at a friend’s property. Turkeys moved about his yard. I ignored them and went into the house. Later I approached my car. Half a dozen turkeys stood on the hood, roof, and trunk. They had crapped all over my car, including the windshield. I drove to a car wash. Cleaning the mess required two washings.
    In spite of those episodes, I enjoy watching turkeys. The same is true of birds in general.
    Bird watching enhances a person’s well being.

Building Number 4

Basketball hoop behind Building Number 4.

    An elderly man lay naked. It was summertime. He snoozed on the bank of a river in Massachusetts. His arms and legs were stretched out. Next to his ear lay a shaving razor. A rubber raft, tethered to a branch, floated nearby.
    Since his name was unknown to me, I’ll call him Jake.
    The location was rural. A cliff rose above Jake. Atop this bluff stood two boys. They noticed Jake basking in the sun. One of those boys was me. I was a teen at the time.
    My friend and I made a logical assumption: Jake had slipped away—or outright escaped—from a mental institution. It was located nearby, behind a tract of woods.
    We informed the institution about Jake. At the time, our action appeared sensible. Jake would probably need help. Not only that, some of the patients there, and possibly Jake, were criminally insane.
    Forty plus years have passed since then. The institution has long since closed.
    Yesterday I strolled the grounds. It was like walking through a ghost town, with decaying buildings, shuttered windows, and boarded up doors.
    I wondered where Jake had lived.
    It was impossible to know the functions of particular buildings. Numbers identified them, nothing else.
    I walked by the smaller buildings. They appeared likely to have housed patients. Building Number 4 caught my eye. The door was locked but not bordered up. I pressed a camera against glass.
    Decay was everywhere. A hallway led to a room shrouded in darkness. The scene was creepy. I shuddered at the thought of Jake being confined there.
    He had crept away from a depressing place. When I noticed him, he was doing more than basking in sunshine. He was basking in freedom.
    Today my heart is heavy. I regret turning in Jake.

Hallway is visible through window on front door.

Inevitable Fuss

Actor at Wayside Inn in Massachusetts impersonates Longfellow.

Listen my children and you shall hear,
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.
    
    Many Americans recognize those words. They’re from ‘Paul Revere’s Ride,’ a poem composed by poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
    Longfellow was a literary rock star. His fame extended from America to Europe. Fame did not turn him into a braggart. He was humble in personality.
    Yet he had detractors. For example, not everybody was enamored by the poem about Paul Revere. Some critics groused that it did not mention William Dawes, who also rode that night.
    Edgar Allen Poe, a famous writer and contemporary, accused Longfellow of imitating the styles of other poets.
    Does criticism follow everybody who achieves prominence? Might some high achievers be immune to the slings and arrows of disparagement? I don’t think so.
    Receiving criticism is normal on the path to greatness.

Pursuit of Happiness

    ‘America is Positively Duckie.’ A man towed that sign on the Kennebec River in Maine. It was July 4th weekend. Patriotism was on display.
    Over two centuries earlier, that river was the site of tension.
    Agents of the British Crown plied the waters. They searched for big trees with straight trunks. The reason was military. Ships of the Royal Navy used those trunks for masts. When a tree was chosen, the agents stamped a seal upon it. Colonists were barred from cutting down the tree.
    This policy—hogging the best trees—raised the dander of locals. Many of them earned their living by logging. The closer a tree was to the river, the easier it was to bring lumber to market.
     When the American Revolution broke out, these colonists along the river joined the cause. They must have read those words in the Declaration of Independence:
    …all men are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.
     And the pursuit of trees.

Pecking Orders

    I asked Keith Lockhart, conductor of the Boston Pops Orchestra, for a permission. Would he allow me to photograph him up close during a performance? I’d work fast, less than a minute. He said okay. The matter was resolved.
   Or so I thought. Another man with the orchestra suggested that I perform a courtesy. He told me to clear the idea with one of the violinists. I reacted with surprise. Why ask a musician for permission? The conductor had approved my request.
    Turns out, the violinist was the concertmaster. I conveyed my request to him. He consented. By adhering to a protocol, I had assured that things would go smoothly.
    All orchestras have a concertmaster. This person ranks second, below the conductor. The position requires exceptional talent.
    A concertmaster—usually a violinist—performs difficult solos. He liaisons between the conductor and the musicians. A concertmaster is more visible than his peers. He sits nearest to the conductor. A concertmaster is the last musician that takes to a stage. As he approaches, the other musicians pause from tuning up.
    Several other musicians—they’re called first chairs—also perform enhanced roles.
    Pecking orders are commonplace in organizations. They bestow status and power on individuals near the top.
    In some organizations, the pecking order is not determined by merit. Cynicism must breed among those at the bottom. For example, a friend of mine groused about his bosses. He said, “Scum always rises to the top.”
    Not all organizations fit that mode. Some, like orchestras, promote talented people into top slots. Sometimes cream rises to the top.