A Great Example of Stealing

Storytime!

Chalons-sur-Marne, Winter, 1971

The barracks at the Gunnery School.

When it comes to assigning details, Private So-and-So (serial number 14672/1, well known to the service) systematically volunteers for the least desirable, most disgusting detail, the one usually handed out as a punishment, that has tried the bravery of greater men: the legendary, infamous, unnameable latrine detail!

Every morning.

With the same half-smile.

"Who wants latrine detail?"

He steps forward.

"Private So-and-So!"

With a sense of mission, as if he were going off to storm Hamburger Hill, he grabs the mop and pail, his company colors, and marches off, much to the relief of his fellow soldiers. He's a brave man. No one follows him. The rest of the company lies low in the trenches for more honorable details.

The hours go by. Where has he gone? We almost forgot him. We did forget him. But just before noon, he shows up with a salute to the sergeant. "Latrines clean as a whistle, sir!" The sergeant receives the mop and pail. He'd like to ask the question that's on his mind, but basic human respect stops him. Private So-and-So salutes again, turns on his heels and marches off, his secret still intact.

The secret is contained in that thick book in his uniform pocket: the 1,900 pages of Gogol in a paperback college edition. The complete works. Fifteen minutes of noxious detail, and he's free to spend the rest of the morning with Nikolai Gogol.

Every morning through the winter, seated comfortably on a throne in a locked stall, Private So-and-So soars far above latrine detail. Nikolai Gogol, down to the last word!...

The army likes to celebrate its exploits.

But of this one, only two lines remain, written high up on the edge of the water closet. They are among the most meaningful in all contemporary poetry:

It's no lie when I tell you, pedagogue,
That I read all of Gogol in the bog.

(*While we're on the subject, old Georges Clemenceau, aka "The Tiger," another famous fighter, thanked his chronic constipation, without which, so he said, he would never have had the pleasure of reading Saint-Simon's Memoirs.)

From "Better Than Life," the book.

Yes, I Steal.

I do steal. A lot.

Wait - that may not sound right. Before you react too strongly, read these excerpts from "Better Than Life," that awesome book I talked about in the last post (or was that the first post?).

"Time spent reading, like time spent loving, increases our lifetime. If we were to consider love from the point of view of our schedule, who would bother? Who among us has time to fall in love? Yet have you ever seen someone not take time to love? I've never had the time to read. But no one has ever kept me from finishing a novel I loved."

"Time spent reading is always time stolen. Like time spent writing, or loving, for that matter. Stolen from what? From life's obligations. Which is probably why the subway - the very symbol of life's many obligations - is the world's largest reading room."

And finally,

"If you have to ask yourself where you'll find the time, it means the desire isn't there. Because, if you look at it more carefully, no one has the time to read. Children don't, teenagers don't, adults don't. Life is a perpetual plot to keep us from reading. 'Reading. I'd love to, but what with my job, the kids, the housework, I don't have the time.' 'You have so much time to read - I envy you!'"

Please - learn to steal.

Steal bits of time for reading - on the bus or subway, at long stoplights, at night before bed, in the bathroom, wherever. Steal it from your life's obligations. You'll be better off for it.