There's a quirky house on the tree-lined block of my Pacific Heights/Marina neighborhood in San Francisco. A shredded Vietnam-era flag stays mounted on the front stairs handrail.
The California gubernatorial recall campaign was in full force at the time I first noticed it; I was moving into my current place. The house had a banner above the garage urging nobody in particular to take our country back, but not on ideological lines. The garage banner's instructions read: "RECALL DAVIS. IMPEACH BUSH!!"
Soon after, Arnold Schwartzeneggar was sworn in to replace recalled Governor Gray Davis. The banner's wish was half accomplished and obsolete, and promptly taken down. The shredded flag remained, and six clear plastic pockets were symmetrically attached to either side of the the garage door. In the pockets were offered anti-Bush articles printed out from Internet news sites.
In peculiar timing, around six months before the November general election, I noticed the literature pockets were gone. No banner was mounted above the garage. The shredded flag flew solo. I asked Sam, the owner/proprieter of the corner grocery on our block, what had happened to our local free speech practitioner.
"Why don't you ask him yourself," Sam said, pointing outside the store, "he's sitting right there."
I knew the man was older, in his late sixties at least, as someone had pointed him out at the grocery the summer before. In my mind this vociferous neighbor was a tough SOB; a salty dog anarchist. Not so, I learned that day.
Outside sat a tall, distinguished elderly man in kahkis and a windbreaker, eating his deli sandwich and reading his newspaper at the grocery's outdoor table.
I introduced myself and expressed admiration for his...means of self-expression. The salty dog, it turned out, is an upstanding, polite, WWII navy vet. In the war, he'd worked with a unit to decipher Japanese secret messages. He's now a semi-retired lawyer. With a trace of a surprised smile, eyes cast downward, he accepted my compliments.
In hushed voice, he explained that some in the neighborhood complained his signs were over the top - beyond the block's unwritten tony boundaries of propriety. This was why the shredded flag flew alone. He appeared caught off guard, and looked around as he talked. It was clear he didn't want to stay and chat or offer more details.
For months I walked down the block, passed the flag, and wondered: Was he still in the apartment? Did he live alone, with a wife or spouse? I wished I could casually bump into him to ask his reaction to Bush's re-election. I'd love to hear his comparisons between now and the Watergate/Vietnam days. Stories about Japanese code cracking from WWII. I was often tempted to knock on his front door or leave a note asking for an interview. I never acted on it.
It was a heartening surprise last Friday to open the blinds of my apartment and see my neighbor, perhaps on the occasion of this holiday weekend, had resumed his desire to speak out. What mustered his courage? Was it the Downing Street Memo? The dismal poll numbers following Bush's "stay the course" Tuesday night speech to the American people? Whatever the cause, new signs adorn his window. They read: "Support Our Troops", "1743", "Save Our Nation & The World" and the biggest sign says "IMPEACH BUSH!!"
Neighborhood proprieties be damned, he probably figured. No matter what side the passers by are on politically, this man's navy comrades died for his right to post those signs. They're a hearty salute to that shredded flag. At least that's how this neighbor sees it.
Happy Fourth of July.
(Thanks to ImageShack for Free Image Hosting)