© Alan Reade, 1991 and 2020
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      Helping Hand

      During the Seventies, a tremendous tide of immigrants poured into the United States, and especially into California. According to government reports, the advent of so many new non-English-speaking people into our cultural system caused a myriad of special problems, which equally special solutions needed to address. One such problem...was that of the crosswalks. Many people who could not read English did not know the words "WALK" and "DON'T WALK" and would stumble unwittingly into busy intersections, causing themselves insult and, sometimes, injury.

      The government responded by adopting uniform symbols for crosswalk lights, like they have in Europe, instead of using words. Thus, the new "WALK" signal displays a little white man with no hands or feet taking an imaginary journey across a street, and "DON'T WALK" is shown as a big reddish hand (the right hand, lest we've forgotten) in the sign of "Halt!" These signals have popped up everywhere in the nation, guiding people on their ways through urban and suburban life by the millions.

      Only, sometimes I look at that hand, and I think it a little too rounded and unmechanical to be an electric fixture created by the U.S. Government; a little too soft-looking, like it might reach out at any time and straighten our collars or offer us a pitcher of lemonade. In short, it looks like a human hand behind a cage, ready to guide us, to lead us, to comfort us. Almost, as it were, a helping hand.

      Now, do the immigrants know about the story behind the crosswalks?
      And if they do, do they really give a shit?

          Or do they just think of America as the Land
                of the Helping Hand?


      Blank Checks (for checks and balances)

      "I worry about him.

      Sometimes I send him a check
      And tell him to write in the amount and sign his name;

      Sign it, sign it, sign it, sign it--
        I tell him to sign his name."

      So what's that blank look doing on your face?
      Like someone slapped the money right out of your teeth!
        Your teeth--so white
      Like the pillars at the bank, which hide all that gold
        Underneath.

      I went to that altar--
        That black pedestal with the numbered buttons--
      And I offered up my card from the kneeling plank.
      Above the slot, on the screen (where the crucifix should have been),
      There were zeroes, crossed ellipses, and I went blank, blank,
        Blank.

      Do you ever worry about me, sometimes late at night?
      Do you ever have an urge to send me something rectangular, flat,
        And white? Saying,
      "Sign the amount and sign your name;
        Just sign the amount and sign your name;
      Sign your amount and then your name,
        Whatever gets you through the black night?"

      I've sung my songs to businessmen, who thought them rather funny.
      They tell me to educate myself so I can bring in lots of money.
        They sing,
        "Visa, Visa, Leaning Tower of Pisa;
          Paris, Rome, never leave home
        Without it, Tibet, or Hong Kong better yet!
          Sights, smells, fast friends, big jets,
        Nice hotels        ."


      They say, "Diners Club, Gold Card, Carte Blanche by the score,"
      And I blanche and I blanche, till I can't say no more.

      Money is green here in the U.S.A. (and gold is too);
        Our buildings stay lit all night.
      But you know, blank checks are never black;
      Blank checks are never-ever black;
        You know, blank checks are never black,

      And "blanche" in French means "white."



      Moon Over TaiPei

      I took this aerial picture of L.A. a few Decembers ago,
      When I was there on a business trip.
      There was too much air traffic, even by L.A. standards,
      So we were rerouted to a holding pattern in outer space.

      No, really!


      As you can see, L.A. looks pretty run-of-the-mill from way up there.
      Just another patch of land with lights.
      But coming in for a landing over Inglewood,
      It looked as though we were going to ram a mudbank:
      The air was brown. Brown.

      And, later, mashing through downtown,
      It appeared that all the buildings were growing downward toward me
      From some tilled soil in the sky.
      How can we breathe? How can we see?
      "Only in America," I mumbled.
      "The rest of the world can't be this bad."

      I also went to Taiwan a while ago.
      When I first arrived there,
      I was amazed at the moon,
      Especially at its haunting, dark, golden luster
      As it hung over the city by night like a luminescent egg yolk.

      I thought,
      Wow! This phenomenon must be
      Because of the position of the earth toward the moon      ,
      A condition found uniquely in and around the Tropics!

       So I enthusiastically asked a young student,
      "Why does the moon look so different
      In this part of the world?
      What is the scientific name for this exotic and,
      I'm sure, well-studied atmospheric condition?"

      And she looked at me and smiled,
      Which in her culture is a polite way of saying,
      "What in the hell are you talking about, fool?!"

      And then she pointed toward a valley just outside the city,
      And she explained
      That it was the heavy gases
      Burning from all of the island's oil refineries,
      Which were put there by the Americans after World War II,
      That hung in the atmosphere,
      Bathing the moon over TaiPei
      And the sky over Taiwan
      In such rich
      Hues
      Of gold.









      Handmusic (a musical segment with overhead projections)












      Language Control Test (with Dr. Alphabet)


      Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dr. Alphabet, and this segment of the program is called the Language Control Test. Were this an actual emergency, you would be instructed to disengage every concept you know from the words that describe them. Fortunately, we will only be looking at the effect language has on us, not experiencing its all-powerful grip on our cerebral hemispheres.

      Let us begin this test with some words that we have been taught to be careful of because of their potential explosiveness. Loaded terms, in other words. There are some words and phrases that we have been taught to dislike, but only because the meanings behind them are thought to be sinister and foreboding. Once, however, we take the words by themselves and mold them a little, on this sampling keyboard here, they can be quite beautiful, really. For example, let us start with a real humdinger of a word:

        FAGGOT

      which becomes:

        Ff-fF-fFf-ffFa-aAaA-GG-gg-Gg-Gah-aH-Ot-tt-tT-T

      Sounds sort of rhythmic, yes? And now, how about a phrase:

        HOMELESS PEOPLE LIKE CAMPING OUT..

      which becomes:

        ho ho ho home HO HO HO HOMELESS!
        pe pe pe pe PE PE PE PEOPLE!
        li li li li LI LI LI LI LIKE!
        ca ca ca ca CA CA CA CA CAMPING!
        camping camping out out! CAMPING CAMPING OUT OUT!

      See? Nothing wrong with it at all. Almost sounds...pretty. And try this one:

        AIDS IS THE WRATH OF GOD.

      which becomes:

        ai ai ai ai ai ai ds ai ai ai ai ai is ai ai ai ai ai th ea ai ai ai ai wrath ai ai ai ai ai of ai ai ai ai ai god

      Totally harmless...almost sexy in its rhythmic implications! And then there's:

        WOMEN ARE THE WEAKER SEX.

      which becomes:

        WOMEN ARE THE WEAKER SEX! Doo-dah! Doo-dah!
        WOMEN ARE THE WEAKER SEX! La-dee-doo-dah-day!

      And finally, here in North America, pain is a pastime. Whether it entails bitching about what the kids said, kvetching about the lack of garbage service is on your block, or describing the symptoms of your latest disease, we just love to talk about what ails us. So the next time you get an urge to complain, complain, because you feel in pain, just remember...you are in a state of hurt because you wanted to be. And when you have the need to play the alphabet blues to someone else for a change, step into my office, sit on down, and I will say, in the most understanding way I know how,

        "Just tell me where it hurts."