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Woebeit the oxymoron that offends me the most is public servants (elective, selective, or projected), who never have time for the public that they purportedly serves. Square business, I find it untenable for public officials to spend thousands of dollars to run for an office that they won’t run properly after being elected. They swear on the Holy Bible that, “My door will always be open, ” or “ I’ll never be more than a phone call away.” Even so, after 52 plus years of serving my people, lest they perish for lack of knowledge, I understand why you don’t find many, if any, politician’s home phone numbers listed.
In addition, politicos make one feel special when they scribble their cell phone number on the back of their cards and say, “You can always reach me at this number,” but I quickly learned not to waste my time paging their cell phones as the automated voice instructs. I find it inexcusable if public servants use bureaucracy of technology to screen, or ignore their public. Then again, only special interest groups seduce people to run for public office. And, in spite of the long list of reluctant martyrs (dating back beyond the era when Moses was drafted by a burning bush), I’m down with the Civil War hero, Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman, who answered when asked to run for president, “If nominated, I will not run; if elected, I will not serve.” What I’m saying here is, the best time for public servants to tell the public that they’re too busy to take care of their business is before they become public servants. Yeah, yeah, I hear The Twilight Zone theme, so I’ll explain why I serve. For sure, I ain’t emulating the biblical prophet (FYI: “Also I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me-Isaiah 6:8), but, as you well know, my cranial circuits are connected to The Outer Limits of the paranormal, and I believe in signs. Ergo, when the good Lord chose me to be a rock that cries out His truth, I accepted the bitter cup because I’ve learned to subjugate my will, or God will kick my butt. In fact, I was painfully reminded of the five year, no cut contract I made with the good Lord back in 2002.
I got the message when an aching prostate awaken me on the morning of Bud Johnson’s Day (orchestrated by Councilmember Galloway and approved by Mayor White during the City Council’s Sept. 13, 2005 session) that the contract, indeed, was binding. Square business, that pain reminded me that I had rejected radical treatment for a cancerous prostrate, after negotiating a new contract with God. Hey, I often chide people who believes that Jesus wakes them up every morning, by asking, “Why in the hell would Jesus waste his time waking you up, so that you can go pee and get right back in the bed?” Translation: God has a purpose for every human’s life. Thus, when one works to fulfill his or her mission (ministry), small blessings, and/or tender mercies are their paychecks. In addition, my Our Daily Bread booklet validated the sign with “Do The Hard Work!” (1 Timothy 6:12 supported it.) To wit: “After living more than 90 years, I know that any claim that offers an effortless way to develop a lean, well-conditioned body is a hoax. So is any sermon title that promises an easy way to become like Christ.” Shazam! I space won’t allow a mini-sermon about God’s retirement bonus. So, suffice it to say, I intended to dramatically announce my retirement at City Hall, but instead I babbled something about unretiring again and again in the future. Fighting the good fight aside, I’m saying retire, when I’m talking Emeritus status, because people fail to grasp that concept. It’s simply a title of privilege that entitles one the to have continued access to an organization’s resources.
I guess, the best way to say it is, in spite of my contributions I don’t run nothing at African American News & Issues but my mouth. Hey, I don’t even want the authority to hire, or fire, or determine what goes in the paper. Hell, active managing editors, nor an editor-in-chief’s call supercedes their publishers. Cutting to the chase, I feel your pain and I understand why people with problems simply won’t follow the simple instructions that would allow a public servant to serve his public. I suspect they believe if they can talk to me one-on-one, they can convince me that I can walk on water. Hey, I’m more of a Griot, than a warrior in my dotage. In addition, an Emeritus watcher on the wall has the freedom to pick his fights.
In essence, the message on my answering machine is the same one you’ll get from me in person… as I try to run one more lap. Henceforth, you can stop shouting at my answering machine to “Pick up the phone!” I don’t need technology to avoid inconsiderate brothers and sisters who fail to grasp the concept of an Emeritus warrior. I wonder if anybody knows where I’m coming from?