The Councilman

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The Councilman was larger than life, but in a very specific sense. It wasn't that he had the volume of charm, personality, intelligence, wit or any of these things that one might normally expect from someone who can be described as larger than life. It was that he gestured towards being larger than life in all these respects - a very committed gesture too - while falling short by a truly cavernous distance.

By way of background, the Councilman described himself as an earnest public servant who 'used to be voted in because of my good looks, now they vote me in because I do a good job'. 25 years in the local government game, and a 'consultant' to the hostel we were staying at.

The hostel merits a description: a former aged care home turned hostel deep in the Boston suburbs, it was still far more home than hostel. For example, our beds were plastic mattresses on 1950s hospital style hydraulic bed frames, surrounded by the traditional hospital privacy curtain complete with blood stains and some others that don' t bare mentioning. It only operated because of the extreme shortage of budget accommodation in Boston. Our consultant's duties were confined to driving the shuttle bus between the train station and the hostel.

The Councilman would speak at everyone he could. About his selfless career, his hobbies, and his talents - in particular the adavantages accruing from being able to make people of all walks of life laugh. He also made a point of saying hello to everyone he passed in the street with an unpleasant combination of sycophancy and failed statesmanship. Most people started frowning or snarling as soon as they saw an encounter was inevitable and maintained that countenance throughout, which of course the Councilman could not consciously acknowledge.

But when the Councilman would become drunk (a common enough event), a measure of self doubt could be discerned in his voice and manner - the Councilman would look harder into your eyes for whatever it was he was seeking - almost as if the alcohol was a personal truth serum. I wonder if the distance between the Coucnilman's self-image and the impressions he makes is analogous to America in the world. If this is so, America's sobriety is surely to be bemoaned. But more importantly, this yawning distance and the devices that cross over it are no doubt crucial to understanding America. The Harrison Ford type Presidents of Hollywood, and the hideously pitiful reality is probably just the most obvious example.

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