WELCOME

Welcome to my blog. It is called Eaves-droppings because many of my short pieces arise from comments I overhear in public places. These comments trigger ideas, thoughts, recollections and even stories. Some are pure stimulus-response, stream of concsiousness reactions.

Cellphones have made my field of observation much richer.

I hope you will enjoy my wandering through public places.

Contact me at ronp70000@aol.com with your comments and observations.
Ron

Tuesday, October 20, 2015


The Invisible Man or Regrets, I’ve had a few . . . .

Ron Pickett

“Escondido, CA. A ‘John Doe’s’ body was recovered from a culvert on Tuesday. His body was thrown off the bridge. Identification is pending.”

Walking was not easy any more, the pain in his left foot caused him to cringe with every step, and the throbbing ache in his right knee made him walk in a strange rolling motion. They would go away, they always had, but now, nearing eighty it took longer to heal, the body was not as resilient as in the past. But the brain was still there, still flashing from thought to thought, it was where he found refuge when his body failed him, or slowed him down.

He thought about a lot of things, the ferocity in the modern world, and then he remembered that this was perhaps the least violent time since humans emerged from the savannah. But now we see it as it happens – on a large screen - in vibrant color – with high fidelity stereo sound. What would the life of a medieval serf look like on a 55” screen? Maybe, he thought, seeing such violence can soften us a little, unless it makes us numb to what we are watching.

He thought about how his temper was shorter than it once was, perhaps he knew he didn’t have enough time left to wait, to watch, while people learned what he knew already. And he could only observe and try to keep his frustration in check when he saw things happen that he knew would be the result of actions he had cautioned against. He wondered about other old men; was he now, the person he had been frustrated by in the past? Perhaps.

But in the quiet times he was haunted by waves of darkness that came in from the corners of his mind. Times when he had used his stable, “average” white man appearance as a cover to hide his actions. He could easily be lost in a crowd, never seen, never remembered – he could expand like a cat being attacked by a dog, or, when he wanted to he could seem to be much shorter than his 6’1” frame, and he wanted to - often. He could put a completely bland look on his face, he practiced in front of a mirror, and he had to hide his eyes, his green overly bright and penetrating eyes. So, he wore sunglasses when he could and he let his specs get dirty and fogged and he wore a prescription that was much stronger than he really needed. Sometimes he even rubbed his eyes intentionally to make them red and rummy and to cloud this view into his inner self. The eyes are so telling and express things that are hard to disguise. Most people try to enhance their eyes, not dull them down, but he had learned that people would remember his eyes at times when they would not remember anything else about him.

Strange he thought, he had never been in prison; he had spent a few hours in police stations, being questioned about events that took place where he had been seen. But none of them led to anything more, he simply didn’t fit the image of a criminal and he was careful to seem bigger, or stronger, or more imposing than the faint and blurry video out-takes. He knew that with the new equipment, it was becoming much more difficult to take advantage of his ability to modify his appearance from inside. He could only do so much! Perhaps it was time to call it quits, but probably not for a while, he enjoyed his “hobby” far too much, and there was one big score that he wanted to pull off.

He thought, it’s hard to categorize who he was and what he did, perhaps that was one of the reasons for his success. “Robin Hood,” as the idea entered his mind, he laughed out loud. He thought about all of the criminals, “bandits,” that wanted to be thought of as “Robin Hoods,” the only poor people that they gave the proceeds of their crimes to was themselves! But he supposed the idea made them feel better about what they had done. Then he thought, “Steal from the rich! Laughable, the poor don’t have anything I want!”

At times he tried to put himself in a category. Con artist? Okay, he liked the artist part of the term, but it really only covered a part of his significant repertoire. Thief, sure, that was one of the things that he did really well, but it hardly honored his unique skill, sense of style and his passion for professionalism. Grifter was probably closest, although he didn’t like the sleazy, carny feel that it carried with it. He actually thought of himself as an entrepreneur; studying the market place and developing “solutions.”

 He wondered about the dark side, why did he have these feelings of dread; anxiety in the late night hours. When he was focused, he had no negative feelings about what he had done at all. Still he wondered, why the unsettling undercurrent that nibbled at him when he allowed it to. He thought about a couple of his capers, that’s an old word he thought, now it usually means a small kind of onion savory thing with the current emphasis on stylish cookery, but it used to mean an action or event or an escapade. He smiled, recalling being so transparent, normal and trustworthy that jewelry clerks would leave him with several trays of expensive baubles while they went to the back room to get something special he asked for. He could net a couple thousand dollars for a few minutes work and it would be weeks before the loss was discovered. All he needed to do was recall which stores he visited and not to go back for a year or so. But it was so easy that he quit doing this scam after a while.

He seldom worked with anyone else; could never trust them to keep their mouths shut. Occasionally he would use a friend as a distraction, but usually they didn’t even know that they were involved. A ride to the doctor’s office was a pretty good cover, and he had a built in alibi. What could be better. He had learned early on that the second thing people did when they got some money was to talk and brag about it – the first thing was to spend too much money!

He’s learned quickly, each of his capers (he was beginning to like the term) taught him something new and he looked hugely for those tidbits. He went back over each time as a sort of debrief. What had gone well, where had he made mistakes? How serious were the mistakes? What should he do differently the next time? One of the things he learned early was that he had to keep inventing new things to do, new ways of using his anonymity to disguise what he was doing. But he knew that if he repeated the same thing over and over he would get caught.

He looked for marks, people who he could scam. He was surprised by his discovery that the smartest people were the easiest to take; they assumed that they were smarter than he was and he found some easy ways to make himself seem a lot denser than he was. Asking questions that had obvious answers did two things, it made him seem both dumb and vulnerable and it made himself seem like the mark and an easy one at that. As soon as he had someone trying to help him, he was almost home free. He learned to look and sound defenses and nonthreatening through his demeanor and voice.

One of the first scams he used was the “found wallet.” Make sure someone else is watching and “find a wallet” on a sidewalk. Open it and show the money inside then offer to split the cash with the other observer after getting their agreement to post a bond. There are many variations using fake money in the wallet, giving offering to keep only the credit cards, calling the person who’s identification is in the wallet and offering to return the wallet for a reward, etc. It’s been done so often and has so many variations that it has gained a history all it’s own. He learned soon about the incipient larceny of the average person on the street. Calling the owner was one of the hardest variations to pull off; the observer would almost always object and would say something like “Wait, wait, why should we give it back? Finders- Keepers! And they are probably insured anyway.” He worked this for years occasionally, never too often and never in the same area, although his blandness made it really almost impossible for his marks to remember him. “Average height, average hair, no distinguishing characteristic.” And that was only for the ones who reported their loss, most were too embarrassed and never did figure out what had happened to them. He also found that there was a range of pot value – too big a wad of cash and the mark was overly cautious and dubious, too little and it wasn’t worth their time.

He found that this worked even better as he got older, people trusted him more and challenged him less.  One of the few things he had found about aging.

Sometimes he simply picked things up. Usually the items were not very valuable, but they added up. Sometimes it was just an apple from a fruit stand. He found that as long as he had a bag with something else in it, he could easily slip things into the bag.

He noticed that there were some groups that took all of the attention of store owners and employees. Young men, minorities, especially if they were a little raucous and having a good time could create a vast empty space for him to work. Lately, loud and angry groups of girls were beginning to have the same effect. He could become a ghost easily when there were teenagers about. Sometimes he even would tell a clerk that they better keep a close eye on a group of teenagers, then he would ease away picking up anything he saw of value. This technique gave him a “double blind;” the distraction of the unruly group and the comradery of sharing the same concern with the staff.  

For a while cell phones were really easy and valuable. He learned quickly which ones were equipped with antitheft devices or apps and he left them alone. Actually the way that he found out about this software was when a large angry man knocked on his door with a demand that he give him back his cell phone. He apologized and claimed he thought it was his own. He then became indignant with the man, asked him if he had picked up his phone by mistake and when he said that he didn’t he handed it back and the man left! He thought about becoming indignant and telling the man to leave his property, but a quick thought made him realize the man would be back in 20 minutes with a cop! But the lesson was clear – new technology could track itself.

His life was as normal as his persona. He had a wife and two kids, grown now, who helped him seem completely ordinary. He took the name John Smith, it wasn’t the name he was born with that was Ivan Petrov. He got the chance to change his name when he registered for Social Security. Even at the age of 16, he recognized the value of being invisible. His job was simple and provided a reasonable income, and it gave him both opportunities to be in the right place at the right time, and to think about new ventures that he could refine while doing his daily tasks. He only use part of his brain to do his job.

All of the money he “earned” went into a special place, and he tracked his treasure with some care. He was well into six figures now, and his final plan was just beginning to emerge. He needed to do a couple of things to finish his “second career.”



The decades of being hidden in plain sight had been a burden on his mental health. He had increasingly wanted to be the center of attention, the focus of interest. His final act would be something that would make him famous; everyone would know who he was.  He had considered several things: running for office was one, but his background would certainly come out, and he couldn’t stand a detailed scrutiny of his past. He thought about a very large donation to a charity, but that was fleeting and only a few people actually heard about such a donation. Certainly he thought about a magnificent score, a really big take that would make the front page of all of the newspapers and the 24 hour cable news networks. The problem there was that unless he was identified with the crime, he would still be in the shadows, the “invisible man.” He looked at other events in his neighborhood; chili cook-offs, children focused activities, sports and similar activities. But what could he do to really stand out and become known and famous?

He noticed that there was a convention that was coming to town. It was a national convention which was unusual for the small community where he lived. But it was for a small group, Professional Clowns. As he found out more about the convention, the possibilities intrigued him. Clowns were enigmatic; funny, light, jovial, fanciful and at the same time terrifying and dreadful. He liked clowns and had dressed as a clown in the past. It was one of his personas that he found strangely relaxing and always put him at ease. He played at birthday parties for a while, but the children got on his nerves so he quit. He began to like the idea of using the convention as a way to make his mark, to overcome his decades long insignificance.

The Clowns Convention would be like most conventions; opening ceremonies, workshops, demonstrations, a dealers product display area, awards banquet and specialty groups. The demonstrations were different from most conventions since they exclusively used members. Clowning had moved far from the days of “how many clowns can fit into the small car?” And the happy circus clowns. There were video displays, computer games, and very athletic events including dives from high platforms, somersaulting through burning hoops, rodeo clowns and special effects using indoor pyrotechnics.

Clowning had made substantial strides from the 1940s when clowns were innocuous and tame.  Now there was an entire group of clowns that used the dark side very effectively and intentionally. Glow in the dark clothing and face paint had taken the field into entirely new areas.

He was there for the opening ceremonies dressed as the quintessential Emit Kelly “Tramp clown.” He counted twenty others that were virtually indistinguishable. He wasn’t surprised. His time was spent checking out all of the areas. He was impressed by the technology and he purchased a few items, and he picked up a few items to add to the convention goody bag – he simply couldn’t help himself!

Then he saw it; he was at the opening ceremonies and at the side of the stage he saw the tower that led to a platform that would be used for high dives. He studied it carefully and decided that it was perfect. He had to do some preparation, a silk suit that he could fit inside the voluminous sleeves of his “Tramp” suit ready for a quick change. He could ditch his Charlie Chaplin shoes easily and he calculated he could make the switch in under two minutes. His special suit was really “special,” it glowed in the dark, had numerous lights and a special section that could hold a wide variety of pyrotechnic devices. It also had fake wings that would make it seem that he was flying when the lights came on. He loved it and had spent a lot of time in development and testing over the last few years.

He also noticed that there was a platform about 18 feet off the ground, a little less than half way to the top. That would be fine for his purpose. His plan developed over the next two days of the conference. He walked past the main stage at every opportunity he had and felt like he really knew the set up the “set” as he began to think of it. He would slip back stage and take off his “Tramp” outfit, take off his over large shoes, put on his new suit and swiftly climb the stairs. He would stop at the half-way platform and get the attention of the spotlight operator. Then he would set off a series of flash bangs, and cascade the bag of $100 bills over the audience. He would then take off his mask, tell them who he was and then make the announcement that the cash was to go to the Hospitalized Children’s fund, the clown’s favorite charity. He would say, “Turn in the cash and add a $100 of your own.”

Each time he thought through his plan, he would smile broadly. No more would he be invisible, unknown, the bland and boring person he had been all of his life. It was a brilliant plan!

The final day of the conference came and he was elated. He smiled and chuckled to himself all day; some people actually noticed him and nodded or waved or introduced themselves. He had hidden his bag of costumes behind the curtains of the main stage. He was wearing his normal flat, boring clothing and as had been his practice for years, he carried no identification. There were no marks on this clothing, he did not have a wallet or a watch or any other item that might identify who he was; it was a practice that he had learned the hard way – once when he was taken into the police station for questioning.

The final ceremony was scheduled for late afternoon, and he had taken a bus to get to the Conference Center. Most of the riders were in costume- happy clowns, sad clowns, and the viscious clowns that had become popular lately.   His mind was busy going over the plan in strict detail, the feeling of elation that overcame him was unlike anything he had experienced before. It was like the feelings he got when he pulled off a great scam, but it was better. The “scam high” always had a little edge of darkness attached to it; someone had to pay for his gain – it was a classical zero sum game.

The bus arrived at the front of the Conference Center and he settled into the crowd that was getting off. As they got to the sidewalk, he felt like the crowd was slowing him down, inhibiting his freedom and he had always rebelled at that. So he moved out of the small knot of clowns. He ducked under a rope and started across the street. The traffic pattern was changed, they had decided to change the directions of traffic flow because of the large crowds. He looked the wrong way and was struck by a bus that was accelerating much too fast. His body arched through the air and into the drainage ditch. He smiled as his body fell just far enough to be fatal.

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