An Unexpected Meltdown
To understand and be understood is to be free.
Daniel Johnston
I did something highly unusual the other day, something I had never done before. Did I beat a Grandmaster at chess? No, I am secretly a checkers guy; chess was never my game. Did I solve an open math problem, somehow stumbling upon a clever solution that will make me an immortal? Nope, I didn’t do that either. The odds of that ever happening are growing increasingly slim as the years roll by. No, my “achievement” was slightly more pedestrian; I bought an onion. As always, there is a story about why I ordered an onion and how I got it home.
I don’t cook, or bake, or spend much time at all in my kitchen. I am single, I have never been married, and there is nearly a 100% chance things are going to remain that way. Any single person can tell you it is very difficult to cook for one. I have tried it in the past, and the results were disastrous. I ended up throwing lots of food out, and I hate doing that. I decided decades ago that bringing something home to eat was the cheapest and most efficient way to get it done. Of course, I also eat out as long as I am not too tired to leave my couch. I hate to admit this, but last night, exhausted from a long day, I had beer and animal crackers for dinner.
As you might imagine, I do not like grocery shopping. I do it occasionally, it is always nice to have food in the house. Also, I have been known to make myself a random tuna sandwich, or I might microwave a frozen meal. You know, nothing complicated.
I was happy to learn that Walmart now has people who will do my grocery shopping for me. I sit at home and click what I want and when I want to get it. Is this service the greatest thing ever? Sure, why not. I love it. I use it a lot. I still don’t like having to carry all that stuff in by myself, and putting it all away isn’t a lot of fun, but I am not quite sure how to solve that problem.
Not too long ago, I submitted a big order for groceries to Walmart. I was motivated by my purchase of a George Foreman Grill; the promise of the occasional grilled hamburger didn’t sound too bad. As I was clicking through all the stuff I wanted, I thought that it would be great if I got an onion to put on the hamburgers that were shortly going to start pouring out of my new grill. So, for the first time ever, I bought an onion. Of course, things couldn’t be quite that simple, could they?
I pulled into Walmart at my allotted time and found a spot. The app on my phone prompted me to input the parking space I was in. I tapped the number three and sat back and relaxed. Before I knew it, a young man with a large cart came up to my window. He verified my identity and then loaded most of the groceries into the bed of my truck. He came back around to my window, handed me a couple bags of chips and an onion, then had me sign a handheld device with my finger, no stylus necessary. Thinking we were done, I started my truck. Turns out, we were not quite finished. The young man struck a pose, not quite a buffalo stance, not something from Madonna’s Vogue video, but something a little different. He looked at me, smiled, and said: “Today, we are going to play a little game.”
Intrigued, I said “OK” and awaited my instructions. He pointed to his name tag. “See this?” I spied a Where’s Waldo sticker affixed to a piece of plastic. “Yes.” I started chuckling, and then I started laughing. I was alone in the truck; there were no kids in there, it was just me and my phone (along with some Fritos and an onion).
“I have hidden one of those stickers somewhere in your food. It is your task to find it.”
At this point, I was laughing out loud. First of all, I thought it was funny that he thought a man my age would be interested in such a game. Second of all, I was deeply impressed with his insight into human nature.
He went on to explain to me that if I was able to find the sticker, I was to call the number listed in an email receipt they were going to send me. I said “OK” and drove off down the road, smiling and chuckling the whole way home.
I pulled into my drive and started to carry everything into the house. I had to make a bunch of trips, lots of Diet Dr. Pepper; 24-pack cases of cans, 16 and 20 oz bottles, plus all the bags. I got them to the kitchen counter, and then my task began.
I carefully examined every item before I put it away. Fritos – check, Frozen meatloaf with mashed potatoes – check, cans of tuna – check, no Waldo there either.
I looked over every item I had purchased, and I could not find Waldo. I took all the groceries out of the cupboards and looked at them again. No Waldo. I went back to my truck and looked in the bed and the cabin (the sticker could have fallen off, right?). No Waldo. I followed my path from the drive to the house. No Waldo.
Where’s Waldo? I mean Where Is Waldo, where could he be? I had no idea. I looked over every item again as I put them back, one by one, into the cupboards. No Waldo. It was only then that I noticed the six-pack of 20oz Diet Dr. Pepper bottles that were on my kitchen counter. In stealth mode, I slowly approached them, using all my ninja skills (of which I have none) to make sure I got the drop on the bottles. I grabbed the plastic carrier and then rotated the first bottle around its axis. No Waldo. Then the second, the third, the fourth…wait…Yes, It’s Waldo! Victory, it appears, is more precious when you have to work for it.
That dude at Walmart had placed Waldo on a bottle of pop and then rotated the bottle so that I wouldn’t see it. Pure genius. I bow to the Walmart employee and his Where’s Waldo sticker game.
Basking in glory, I called my buddy Les to tell him about this bizarre experience. His response: “Who’s Waldo?” Wait, who is Waldo? You’ve got to be kidding me? Les had never heard of the Where’s Waldo books! I was a bit shocked. We grew up in the same town, went to the same schools, and even though he is 6 years younger than me, we had similar experiences growing up here in this part of the world.
So, the question now becomes: How is it possible that Les had never heard of the Where’s Waldo books? My first thought was to see how many of those books are in print. It turns out, that is not an easy question to answer. I did find out that the books were originally based in the UK and were called “Where’s Wally.” That was before the Where’s Waldo franchise took over the world, except (apparently) this little section of The United States. A little more research led me to guess that there are over 30,000,000 Where’s Waldo books in print.
*****
Buford Lister took off his glasses and started to rub his eyes. This new allergy medicine was supposed to take care of this itching. Man, what is going on? He examined the bottle containing his new prescription and then tossed it into a desk drawer. These things are worthless. “Alexa, why are my eyes itchy? I am taking medicine that is supposed to fix this mess.”
Sorry, I don’t know that.
“You know, I think one day soon you are going to know, and you are going to answer me with an appropriate response. Alexa, do you hear me?”
I am here. I listen when I hear the wake word.
He put his glasses back on and immediately noticed a flashing red light coming from a tray on the bottom right of his computer screen. Hmmm, company this early. I wonder what this is about? He clicked on the icon, and a picture of a disheveled man, a standing skeleton, appeared on the security camera screen. He was moving about wildly as he tried over and over to press the doorbell. How was I not given a heads up about this? He got up and made his way to his gun cabinet. He took out a pistol and stuck it in the waistband of his pants.
*****
With the Walmart episode behind me, the last couple of weeks have been normal, just like most of those that came before. The sun came up, stayed a while, and then disappeared, only to return the next morning (take that David Hume! Chalk up another temporary victory for inductive reasoning). I saw people rushing about, too preoccupied to use their turn signals as they sped off to who knows where. Kids got on the school bus in the morning and were dropped off later in the day. Something was different though, the world that everyone was moving through was a little dimmer; well, maybe more than a little. I, too, was oblivious to the creeping darkness until I accidentally stumbled onto something extraordinary.
The interesting part of that day, the accidentally stumbling day, began as I sat on my porch and watched a guy zoom down the road on a speeding motorcycle. He was texting, no helmet, on a four-lane road. What dedication, I thought. Off he goes to save the life of a child, maybe even a future president. I would have thought that a pediatric surgeon would take better care than that, but I am not a medical doctor, so I really can’t be sure. I mean, it couldn’t have just been a random doofus risking his life and the lives of others for no apparent reason, right?
Just as I trusted that the sun would come up, I also had a pretty good idea that my truck would start when I turned the ignition key. It did (That is two victories for induction as David Hume remains totally unimpressed). I went about my business about as normal as possible until I saw something about the death of a singer-songwriter on the internet. An influential and famous one at that (or so they said). I read a little about him and started to get confused. I read more about him and became really confused. If this man was my generation’s Bob Dylan, then how is it possible that I had never heard of him? I kept reading… I saw with my own eyes, on my computer screen (the very screen I am looking at now) the words used to describe him. The word genius appeared over and over. Tortured was also an adjective that materialized in nearly every account. Severe mental illness was a phrase that showed up a lot. I read a few stories about him, and then I decided to give this man the ultimate test, I went to The New York Times website to see if they granted him an obituary. Did they ever.
In many ways, the overall impact of a public life can be discerned by how much space The Times gives an individual for their obituary. I wrote about this in my Beef Stroganoff essay, the one about the brilliant rocket scientist, Yvonne Brill (it will be posted here at a later date). In the headline, The Times noted that this man, this mysterious singer-songwriter, had drawn comparisons to William Blake, a long-dead Englishman who is a towering figure in the history of poetry. William Blake‽ You’ve got to be kidding me! I became even more confused, how did this person evade me all these years? A mystery was upon me, I had to do more research.
*****
Once he double-checked to make sure he was locked and loaded, Buford Lister opened the door.
“I did it. I did it. Look, I did it!” The excited man grabbed Buford Lister by the shoulders and started shaking him as best he could. “I got it. Right here in this notebook. It’s in there. Ya gotta look, it’s in there!”
He let go of his brother, sat an old backpack down on the ground, and started to reach in. Buford Lister drew his pistol.
“Festus, I’ll get it. Step away from the backpack. I’ll get it, OK? Just take a few steps back and relax.”
Festus looked his brother in the eye. “Jealous, all the time jealous. I knew you were going to try to steal my proof. You were always too dense to understand my ideas. Well, I learned my lesson a long time ago with you.” Festus pulled a thin lead pipe out of his belt loop and started swinging. Down, across, and then down again, catching nothing but air.
Buford Lister backed away, disappointed in himself that he didn’t see the pipe. He wasn’t going to shoot his brother…unless he really had to. He kept his pistol aimed at Festus, grabbed the backpack, and shut the door. Once he was sure the door was secure, he went into an adjacent room and pressed a button at the base of a Mozart bust. A section of one of the bookcases slowly rotated, revealing a metal briefcase. He pressed his thumbs on top of the scanner, dialed in the combination, and popped the case. The phone was right where he left it, nestled in its little cubbyhole. He grabbed it and pressed the triangular taupe button. A few seconds passed…
“Festus is here. He is on my porch, swinging a lead pipe. Now, I can go out and shoot him or you can do your job and come get him.”
His head dropped as he listened to the terse response.
“Another thing, how could you people not tell me that he was coming my way. Last I heard about him he was on the other side of the country. It is not that hard to let me know that he is in my area. I don’t understand what is up with you people. The older I get, the sloppier you guys are.”
His eyes drew into a squint as he grasped the phone tighter.
“Fine, I’ll do your job for you and call the police.”
*****
I recently discovered Billie Eilish, a singer-songwriter who is on the cusp of taking over the world. I think that young woman is a genius, I feel it when I listen to her music. There is a special spark there, a big and unusually bright one. I am looking forward to what comes next for her. I’ll tell you a little secret, I am fairly certain she has access to The Book.
I have written a lot about The Book and Paul Erdos, the great Hungarian mathematician who often talked about its importance. Many of my future posts will include stories about him. For now, I need to let everyone know that The Book contains all the most elegant mathematical formulas and proofs that do, or will ever, exist. Straight from the mind of The Supreme Fascist (what Erdos called God) to The Book. I wrote my own book about The Book, I will be posting chapters from it soon. As my story goes, I got to see it once; only one time for a brief instant, but that glance changed my life. I wrote about the pages I saw and my spirited attempt to get another look between those elusive covers. I discovered that The Book is not just filled with mathematics, there are lots of different chapters in there. I am certain that writers, along with extraordinary scientists, and artists, and many others, get to peek in there occasionally. I got a glimpse (and got a collection of essays out of it), I am sure Billie Eilish is going to become very familiar with its layout, and I know for certain that Daniel Johnston, the subject of this essay, was reading from its pages on a routine basis.
I just learned that a man named Daniel Johnston existed, and I am truly sad that he is gone. More importantly, I am very unhappy that I live in a world that so undervalues genius that it took his death for me to become familiar with his work. There is no excuse. Where’s Waldo books are one thing, a living genius whose work touches me at my deepest level of existence is quite another. I would be mad, but I don’t know where to direct the anger, I simply don’t know who to be mad at.
*****
The paramedics gave way to the police. Festus was still waving the pipe in wild fashion. He was screaming gibberish, at least that is what the police thought.
“Poincare! Stand back, or I’ll brain the lot of you. I solved it. You hear me, I got it. That’s right. You are all looking at a genius.”
“Sir, please drop the pipe.”
“Drop it, don’t make us shoot.”
“Drop it now!”
Buford Lister appeared from the side of the house. “Please, everyone relax. Put down your weapons.” He turned toward his brother. “Festus, put down the pipe.”
“I’m not putting this down. You come any closer to me, I’ll brain you. You know I’ll do it. Stand back. Get away from me.”
“OK, Festus. Look, just let these men take you to a hospital, they all just want to help you. They just want to give you medicine that will calm you down.”
“Yeah, you mean the medicine that turns me into a zombie, the stuff that makes me forget my math. I can’t think right when I take that stuff. I’m not going to live that way.”
“Look, Festus, they just want to help.”
Festus threw the pipe at his brother; as soon as it left his hand the officers rushed him. They quickly cuffed him and put him in an ambulance. All the while, Festus was screaming: “I used Ricci Flow to solve Poincare. Poincare! Let me go, you have no idea what you are doing. I am a millionaire, let me go! I have to go get the check. I’m going to be on the cover of The New York Times!”
Buford Lister took a big gulp of air as he let his brother’s words seep in. Oh man, could he have done it? This is going to be bad. He quickly went through the possible scenarios, none of them good. There wasn’t a single possibility that had a decent outcome.
A paramedic approached and patiently waited until Buford Lister looked up at him.
“Sir, you are Buford Lister, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And this is your brother?”
“Yes, Festus is my brother.”
“If I may, do you have a list of the medications he is supposed to be on?”
“No, I don’t. He has been away for a long time. I have no idea what he has been prescribed, and I have no idea who his primary care doctor is now.”
“Ok, thank you, sir. We will be transporting him to Iroquois General.”
“All right.”
As Buford Lister sat on his front steps, Detective John Gibbons approached and took a seat next to him.
“Buford Lister, good to see you. It has been a while. I’ll tell you, what a mess.”
“You might say that,” he said as he leaned over and shook hands with the detective.
“Why weren’t we given a heads up that your brother was in town?”
“No idea, they didn’t even tell me. I saw Festus on my home monitoring system, that is the first I knew of it.”
“Well, it has been a long time, and those old boys down in D.C. must have things that are a higher priority now than you and your brother.”
“Sounds about right. A policeman’s value can go up as they age but that of a mathematician…it doesn’t quite work that way.”
“What was that name Festus was screaming? Any idea what that was all about?”
“He seems to think that he has solved The Poincare Conjecture, it’s awfully complicated to even explain. All you need to know is that it is one of those million-dollar Millenial Prize Problems.”
“It’s that big a deal?”
“Well, it was to the guy who solved it over ten years ago. Apparently, Festus hasn’t been keeping up with the academic journals or the nightly news.”
“So, even…”
“Even if he did solve it, there is no reward for coming in second, no matter how clever the proof.”
“Do you think he did it? Could he really have solved the problem?”
“The thing is, most of the best math is done by the young folks, as mathematicians age they lose it. And I’ll tell you one thing; the drop off is a cliff, not a stairwell. One day you wake up and realize your best years are behind you, and there isn’t anything you can do about it. It’s all over, and no one bothered to say goodbye.”
“So, basically no chance?”
“A slim one. When Festus was young, he was a math prodigy. You know that. He was destined to solve things like Poincare, I thought he had a chance to become one of the greatest mathematicians who ever lived and then…”
“Yeah, I remember. I was there, I worked on that case.”
“We all remember that case. The whole town remembers that case. Not much you can do when the forces that constantly torture a genius overtake the factors working to keep him sane and normal.”
“Yes, sir. Your brother is a cautionary tale for being born too smart.”
Buford Lister remained silent. He knew when someone was fishing, trying to get him to tell his own story, the story of a promising career flushed in a couple seconds by a stupid mistake. He had heard through the grapevine that one of his old colleagues, a European physicist, was writing a book about what people were calling The Lister Affair. He looked up at Gibbons and asked him for a ride to the hospital. They rode together in silence.
*****
I am truly at a loss for words; my discovery of Daniel Johnston has thrown me, I am a little tilted. All I can do is finish telling the story of my introduction to the tortured genius that was one of our greatest living songwriters, a man who managed to evade me for my (and his) entire life.
After I read the obituary in The Times, I did another search for Daniel Johnston to see what I could find. I stumbled upon a tweet from the actor and director Judd Apatow, a short message with a link to a video:
So sad to hear of the death of the great Daniel Johnston. Here is a beautiful performance of his which makes me cry every time.
[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JkczI1-be1k[/embedyt]
Don’t want to be free of hope
And I’m at the end of my rope
I was hooked. I didn’t need to hear any more to know I was listening to a genius. The first line got my attention, a pure masterclass in phrasing. And then the rest of the song just poured it on, more and more lyrical brilliance just gushing out of him. The singing? Did you believe him when he told you he was at the end of his rope? Sincerity, fragility, and truth coming out of (what I soon learned to be) a loveless and tortured soul; that was what I saw and heard. I couldn’t believe what I was experiencing. He was wearing clothes, but he might as well have been naked, it was the same difference. This broken man was totally exposed in a way that you have to see and hear to believe. I had never seen anything like it.
It’s so tough just to be alive
When I feel like the living dead
Then more ninjas. The rest of the horde entered through my back door, near the kitchen. Or maybe they crawled in through the kitchen window. I am not sure of the method, but I am sure of the point of entry. They made their way up the stairs. My security system did not detect them. I didn’t see them, I could only sense them. Ninjas, with all their stealth and skill. Ethereal assassins, blades sharp and drawn; I never had a chance.
I’m giving it up so plain
I’m living my life in vain
And where am I going to
Baffled and confused, I sat quietly as Daniel Johnston struggled to read the lyrics to his own song, words he had written so long ago. I considered my options, I had none.
I’ve got to really try
Try so hard to get by
And where am I going to
The masked entities surrounded me, the quarters were close; swords unsheathed and at the ready. I was overmatched and overcome. I was defeated.
Stunned, I sat for some time in silent contemplation. I played the video again to confirm what I thought I saw, and then I did something I normally don’t do; I scrolled through the comments to see if people had similar reactions. I found I was not alone; not only were there a lot of people who had just discovered him but there were many people having the same visceral reaction to him that I had. Perhaps my favorite comment was from a man named Dave Bonawits, he wrote: wow. I just had an unexpected meltdown watching this.
I write these essays with the goal of introducing my readers to topics I find interesting. I like to think that somehow (after I am long gone) these posts will leave behind a record of what it was like to be me as I traveled through space and time among my fellow human beings. Know this: The reason I get up in the morning is that, even though I know the odds are low, there is a chance I might be introduced to someone like Daniel Johnston. I am gobsmacked.
There are lots of YouTube videos out there featuring this man and his music as well as an award-winning documentary about his life called The Devil and Daniel Johnston. I think it is worth learning more about a man who turned down a multi-record deal with Electra Records because he was convinced that the band Metallica, a member of that label, was in league with the devil. Your time will be well spent hearing the stories about how a young man became famous for recording music with a cheap boombox and then giving the cassettes away. Go ahead, take a deep dive, go down the Daniel Johnston rabbit hole, and see what you can find. I am still down there and I must say that what I am finding is astonishing.
