Read Online The Fugitives by Christopher Sorrentino - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Sorrentino
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shadows are cast by the collusion of so-called respectable people and institutions. Theft is not worthy of celebration—certainly not in a daily newspaper serving a city renowned for the stunning cupidity of those who purportedly act for the public good. No, a theft is a theft, Kat. A theft is a theft. I do not think that it is in the interests of our readership to glamorize the act because of the means of its accomplishment. In Othello, Shakespeare writes, ‘The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.’ Well, in this case I believe Mr. Shakespeare is dead wrong. Shakespeare is wrong. The robbed that smiles is stealing something more from his own self.”
Story about the Mob’s influence on casino gambling?
“Now, how do we know that this story has to do with the Mob? The Mafia? La Cosa Nostra? Because this old college roommate of yours says so ? This has become another easy shibboleth in a culture addicted to shortcuts. The Mob . Let me tell you a story. Where I grew up, there was a pizza parlor. Little pizza parlor on Forty-seventh Street right where I grew up. And when we went in there, there were these coolers filled with colored fruit drinks. And do you know what we called it, the various colored liquids bubbling in these coolers? ‘Mafia juice.’ And when we saw cigarette machines outside the corner store, or in a cafeteria, or at the pool hall, we called them ‘Mafia cigarettes.’ And when there were those coin-operated mechanical horses they have chained up outside the five-and-ten? We called those ‘Mafia rides.’ You know why we called them that? We were lazy . We knew something was off, yes, we knew something was wrong about those watered-down drinks, about those stale cancer sticks, about those twenty-second rides, but did we look deeply at the reasons why those things were put there, where we were? No, we did not. We did not. If we had, it might have told us something that we didn’t want to think about. We had told ourselves the story we needed. We did not wish to be informed. Well, the purpose of a newspaper is to inform and educate the population, not to cater to its fantasies about the causes and conspiracies underlying everyday facts of life. Mafia. Tell me, Kat. How would it sit with you if I told you that casinos were elements of a Jewish conspiracy? Or, better. Better still. What if I were to say that the Chinese were involved with gambling? Fan-Tan. Pak Kop Piu. Long, long history of gambling in Chinese culture. That is a fact. Hmm, must be the Chinese involved. Not quite so obvious a story now, is it, Kat?”
Story about greed and temptation?
“Are we supposed to suggest to our readers that money will set them free? Are we supposed to appeal to their basest fantasies about what it is that money can do for them? You know what I see when I go outside and look at the young men there? Half of them want to be basketball stars. The other half want to be rap stars. Basketball and rap. And you think, I know you’re thinking, well, that is just one segment of the population. I assure you that it is not. I was at a dinner the other evening. A very elegant dinner at the well-appointed home of a man who is rightly considered a pillar of the community. Elegant dinner in Highland Park, night falling on quiet streets lined with homes that spoke eloquently of achievement, of permanence, of perseverance. Well, this man’s son and two of his friends came in. They were boys from the affluent suburbs. Boys who’d never done without anything, who understood what money could buy because they’d always had those things, and they’d watched their parents go to work each day—lawyers, doctors, businessmen, college professors, executives, board members, volunteers reaching out if not to the world at large then at least within their own community. Citizens who live by the credo that my own grandmother lived by and put to me: work hard, follow directives, and be credible. And do you know what
Story about the Mob’s influence on casino gambling?
“Now, how do we know that this story has to do with the Mob? The Mafia? La Cosa Nostra? Because this old college roommate of yours says so ? This has become another easy shibboleth in a culture addicted to shortcuts. The Mob . Let me tell you a story. Where I grew up, there was a pizza parlor. Little pizza parlor on Forty-seventh Street right where I grew up. And when we went in there, there were these coolers filled with colored fruit drinks. And do you know what we called it, the various colored liquids bubbling in these coolers? ‘Mafia juice.’ And when we saw cigarette machines outside the corner store, or in a cafeteria, or at the pool hall, we called them ‘Mafia cigarettes.’ And when there were those coin-operated mechanical horses they have chained up outside the five-and-ten? We called those ‘Mafia rides.’ You know why we called them that? We were lazy . We knew something was off, yes, we knew something was wrong about those watered-down drinks, about those stale cancer sticks, about those twenty-second rides, but did we look deeply at the reasons why those things were put there, where we were? No, we did not. We did not. If we had, it might have told us something that we didn’t want to think about. We had told ourselves the story we needed. We did not wish to be informed. Well, the purpose of a newspaper is to inform and educate the population, not to cater to its fantasies about the causes and conspiracies underlying everyday facts of life. Mafia. Tell me, Kat. How would it sit with you if I told you that casinos were elements of a Jewish conspiracy? Or, better. Better still. What if I were to say that the Chinese were involved with gambling? Fan-Tan. Pak Kop Piu. Long, long history of gambling in Chinese culture. That is a fact. Hmm, must be the Chinese involved. Not quite so obvious a story now, is it, Kat?”
Story about greed and temptation?
“Are we supposed to suggest to our readers that money will set them free? Are we supposed to appeal to their basest fantasies about what it is that money can do for them? You know what I see when I go outside and look at the young men there? Half of them want to be basketball stars. The other half want to be rap stars. Basketball and rap. And you think, I know you’re thinking, well, that is just one segment of the population. I assure you that it is not. I was at a dinner the other evening. A very elegant dinner at the well-appointed home of a man who is rightly considered a pillar of the community. Elegant dinner in Highland Park, night falling on quiet streets lined with homes that spoke eloquently of achievement, of permanence, of perseverance. Well, this man’s son and two of his friends came in. They were boys from the affluent suburbs. Boys who’d never done without anything, who understood what money could buy because they’d always had those things, and they’d watched their parents go to work each day—lawyers, doctors, businessmen, college professors, executives, board members, volunteers reaching out if not to the world at large then at least within their own community. Citizens who live by the credo that my own grandmother lived by and put to me: work hard, follow directives, and be credible. And do you know what
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