Back when I was a boy in the 1950s, my parents would occasionally stop at a Marenisco, Michigan tavern called “My Friend’s Place” while traveling to or from our family’s summer cottage on nearby Lake Gogebic.
It had that name because the proprietor would effusively greet everyone who entered his establishment with “Welcome, my friend! How can I help you?”
This despite the fact that probably most folks who came through his front door were complete strangers, with some undoubtedly holding initial bias against him, based on his swarthy complexion, heavy accent and overall presence so unlike the “white guy” norm that defined societal acceptance in what was a very prejudiced era.
A cynic might say that the bar owner contrived a gimmick just to draw customers, but my memory—founded on a palpable sense of his sincerity—told me even then, when I knew nothing about bias and the harm it causes, that he was simply a good person who honestly saw all people as friends.
Or, as what the counter-culture outlook that emerged in the next decade’s later years would describe as “fellow travelers on spaceship Earth.”
That exemplary individual is long dead. But I can clearly see his face and hear his voice to this day.
We all like to think that we’ll be fondly remembered after we’re gone, and I’m sure there are many in the western reaches of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula who recall with a smile and warm sentiment the gentleman to whom the preceding paragraphs are devoted.
Nevertheless, I’d feel remiss if I didn’t personally honor him, because how he behaved toward everyone is how we all need to behave now.
“What’s wrong with this world?” is a question perhaps best answered by an obscene reality that plays out on the Mediterranean Sea.
It’s there that you’ll find huge yachts owned by moguls and magnates whose mega wealth commonly came from exploiting other people’s grossly underpaid labor, or by stealing the natural wealth found beneath their poorly-shod or bare feet.
Plying the same waters are dangerously overladen vessels carrying refugees desperate to escape horrors stemming from the profiteering obsession that allowed those yacht owners to become billionaires.
The escape boats often sink, resulting in lifeless bodies washing ashore along the sandy beaches of hoped-for salvation . . . while blithely cruising kleptocrats wash down caviar with the finest wine.
The refugees who survive will enter our communities and lives as strangers, with differences that tend to arouse unease even in the absence of shameful demagogues who stoke sensationalized fears.
Our impulse might be to slam the metaphorical door in their faces, on the unkind assumption that they’re alien at best, and enemies or terrorists at worst.
But isn’t the correct response the one most in harmony with the finest religious and philosophical impulse that our species has given rise to during its lengthy journey through history?
“Welcome, my friend! How can I help you?”
Without those words, in relation to many issues requiring justice, better tomorrows won’t materialize.
Dennis Rahkonen, from Superior, Wisconsin, has been writing progressive commentary with a Heartland perspective for various outlets since the ’60s.
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‘Welcome, my friend! How can I help you?’
Posted on October 6, 2016 by Dennis Rahkonen
Back when I was a boy in the 1950s, my parents would occasionally stop at a Marenisco, Michigan tavern called “My Friend’s Place” while traveling to or from our family’s summer cottage on nearby Lake Gogebic.
It had that name because the proprietor would effusively greet everyone who entered his establishment with “Welcome, my friend! How can I help you?”
This despite the fact that probably most folks who came through his front door were complete strangers, with some undoubtedly holding initial bias against him, based on his swarthy complexion, heavy accent and overall presence so unlike the “white guy” norm that defined societal acceptance in what was a very prejudiced era.
A cynic might say that the bar owner contrived a gimmick just to draw customers, but my memory—founded on a palpable sense of his sincerity—told me even then, when I knew nothing about bias and the harm it causes, that he was simply a good person who honestly saw all people as friends.
Or, as what the counter-culture outlook that emerged in the next decade’s later years would describe as “fellow travelers on spaceship Earth.”
That exemplary individual is long dead. But I can clearly see his face and hear his voice to this day.
We all like to think that we’ll be fondly remembered after we’re gone, and I’m sure there are many in the western reaches of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula who recall with a smile and warm sentiment the gentleman to whom the preceding paragraphs are devoted.
Nevertheless, I’d feel remiss if I didn’t personally honor him, because how he behaved toward everyone is how we all need to behave now.
“What’s wrong with this world?” is a question perhaps best answered by an obscene reality that plays out on the Mediterranean Sea.
It’s there that you’ll find huge yachts owned by moguls and magnates whose mega wealth commonly came from exploiting other people’s grossly underpaid labor, or by stealing the natural wealth found beneath their poorly-shod or bare feet.
Plying the same waters are dangerously overladen vessels carrying refugees desperate to escape horrors stemming from the profiteering obsession that allowed those yacht owners to become billionaires.
The escape boats often sink, resulting in lifeless bodies washing ashore along the sandy beaches of hoped-for salvation . . . while blithely cruising kleptocrats wash down caviar with the finest wine.
The refugees who survive will enter our communities and lives as strangers, with differences that tend to arouse unease even in the absence of shameful demagogues who stoke sensationalized fears.
Our impulse might be to slam the metaphorical door in their faces, on the unkind assumption that they’re alien at best, and enemies or terrorists at worst.
But isn’t the correct response the one most in harmony with the finest religious and philosophical impulse that our species has given rise to during its lengthy journey through history?
“Welcome, my friend! How can I help you?”
Without those words, in relation to many issues requiring justice, better tomorrows won’t materialize.
Dennis Rahkonen, from Superior, Wisconsin, has been writing progressive commentary with a Heartland perspective for various outlets since the ’60s.