The Flag Man

The intersection by the post office and the Circle K is a busy one. There's a clear “No Left Turn” sign at the exit of the post office lot but no one pays much mind to it and the traffic lights, as best I can tell, are there for decoration. It's kind of a risky place to stage a one man protest, but there he was - a shoeless, chubby, middle aged man with a buzz cut, wearing ragged blue jeans and a puffy-sleeved winter coat, carrying a handmade cardboard sign proclaiming “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition”. An oversized American flag was attached to his collar and it flared like a cape every time he spun around to confront an impatient driver with a wave and a toothless grin. He was serenely unmoved by the angry horns and the shouted insults and when the police arrived, he went quietly. Two officers efficiently unattached the flag, folded it and gave it to him to hold, then handcuffed him and bundled him into a patrol car while the intersection returned to its treacherous but normal state. Just another slice of life in a world gone a little mad, I thought, but exactly what he was protesting escaped me. As best I could recall, “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition” had been a World War II song - I vaguely remembered my daddy having a version by Kay Kyser somewhere along the way - but aside from the obvious patriotic (warmongering?) theme, it's relevance to a dangerous intersection in a small southern city didn't make much sense except as mischief or possibly some mild mental illness.

I hoped the police would be kind, maybe even find him some shoes and some hot coffee. I hoped they would let him keep his flag. When the weather changed the following day to raw, cold and wet, I began hoping he wasn't homeless or one of the many veterans we've forgotten about.

I got home, slipped into a second layer of thermals and extra socks, burrowed under a blanket with the dogs and gave thanks for what I have and don't always appreciate.