When I was a student in college, I used to park my car in a garage off-campus and walk back to my dorm. Usually late at night. I might have been naive, but I enjoyed those walks most nights. The neighborhood was quiet except for the freeway noise, but even that had slowed by one or two in the morning.
It was calming to be away from the freshmen in the dorm. When I moved out to LA, I was assaulted by the way the city is so packed, so busy, so transient. I didn't think it would ever feel like home. I didn't think I'd ever be able to relax. But I had dozens of good, relaxing walks in the wee morning hours between the garage and campus. It was probably only a four-block stroll, but it was a good buffer between the car and college. Occasionally I'd walk back with other students, but most of the time I was alone.
It was one of these nights as I walked beneath the freeway that he came bicycling toward me, singing. I don't remember what the tune was, but he had a smile on his face and a plastic garbage bag full of bottles and aluminum cans bouncing from his handlebars as he weaved across the empty lanes of Jefferson.
I hoped he would ride past, not out of fear but just wanting to be left alone. I didn't want him to ask me for money, and definitely didn't want to have to answer. No such luck. He was friendly and said he needed money for groceries for his family. I gave him some cash, but started to feel bold. I asked him his name, about his family, and if we could pray briefly. We did. He introduced himself as Lamont Cranston.
We both went our separate ways, but as I walked back to the dorm, I told myself I wouldn't forget that name, and that I would keep praying for Lamont. A couple years later, I was an upperclassman researching radio serials for a film project when I discovered the classic radio show,
The Shadow. I loved it and listened to every recording I could find online. But I hadn't made it through one episode when it hit me. The Shadow's alter ego, his "Clark Kent" identity, is Lamont Cranston. I went back to my journal where I'd written down the name a couple years earlier. No mistake.
Did "Lamont" give me an alias? Had I somehow gotten it wrong? Or was it his real name after all? I'll probably never know, but I do know that it got me thinking. The Shadow's special power is invisibility. He hides in the shadows of the noir world in which he lives. He sees everything the crooked politicians, the thugs, the police, what everyone is doing, then gets the jump on them when they least expect it.
Are there people that we can't see, people invisible to us? Or that we on some level choose not to see? People who are different from us? Who don't share enough in common with us to spark the "care engine" in our hearts? I know it's easier for me to care about someone I feel close to, someone with whom I share common bonds. A blogger friend of mine has
a recent post about this idea that how we define ourselves shapes how we react to others, and ultimately, to whom we choose to show kindness.
As he approached me on his bicycle at 1:00 AM in South LA, I didn't think "Lamont" was a guy I had a lot in common with. I don't know how honest our interaction was that night -- on either side -- but he's got me thinking almost seven years later. One thing I learned that night, and was reminded of listening to those old radio shows, once you find out you've been in the presence of The Shadow, you never forget it.
