Today is a gorgeous, sunny day in my village. You’re gonna get a real Marty today.
And just because I feel like it, I’m wearing my Che Guevara t-shirt for the first time this spring.
Now don’t get me wrong … I’m no commie-loving, burn-all-the-bridges revolutionary. Almost … but not quite.
As I strode up the stairs in a small office building a man close enough to my age descended.
“He’s dead, you know,” he said.
“Huh? Who’s dead?” I answered, not thinking.
“The guy on your chest,” he retorted, obviously an ultra conservative right leaning fascist pig. Heh he.
“Oh no he’s not! Che lives forever,” I instinctively blurted back.
Once I reached the top of the stairway I stopped. And thought. Yes, I’m right, Che does live forever. Not Che the man, but what we immortalized around him. How we adopted his image to represent our own beliefs. “We” as in my generation. Nothing saddens me more than to see those of my time who have assumed the identities of those we despised during the sixties, morally bankrupt, intellectually bereft, complacent..
Now, I’m not a prisoner of my past, I’m a pretty modern guy after all. But neither do I disown it. Certainly I’ve mellowed, but not capitulated. Never. I still am ready to damn the torpedoes and fight for what I think is right and just.
As SBW said to me this morning a propos another subject (actually two subjects) ” … you never quit.”
No, I don’t.