[Bill,
April 4, 2008]
Startin' with nuthin'
Is the American Dream alive or dead?
Adam Shepherd, a young man who graduated college two years ago, wrote a book called Scratch Beginnings. He doesn't answer this question. In fact, he explicitly says he doesn't answer that question.
Instead, he answers this question: Could I get a car, an apartment and save $2,500 in one year, if I were dropped off in a random southeastern U.S. city with only $25 in my pocket and only the clothes on my back?"
The difference between the two questions cuts to the heart of the criticism of this book. There probably is a word for asking a general question when you should be asking a specific one. If there is, I don't know it. Because the difference in how you phrase the question is essential — at some level, the latter question is crucial to success or failure, and the former, well ... it can become almost meaningless in its abstraction.
"Is the American Dream alive for you?" is a personal question, and the only one you can answer. Can you own a home, a car, have a job, and raise a family? Isn't that the American Dream?
Adam's answer was yes. In six months, not a year, he achieved all his goals. He lived for 11 weeks in a homeless shelter in Charleston, S.C., eventually landed a steady job, and then through heroic frugality, managed to get himself into an apartment and purchase a used truck. He had $5,000 in the bank within 10 months.
There's been some criticism that, well, he's a healthy, strong, young white male and it says nothing about the American Dream. But as I've said above, I don't think that's the question. It's Adam's question, and he answers it yes, using old-fashioned values such as optimism, hard work, a great attitude, refusal to complain, thrift and focus.
And that can be inspiring.
*****
The book reminded me of something that happened to me years ago, something that's created a "before and after" situation in my life. There was my life before; my life after. August 1992. I came back from Manila, heartbroken and culture shocked, with no job, no place to live, no credit, and about $100 in my pocket. I wasn't going home to my folks — for reasons I won't get into here, but there was no way. Trust me on this one.
M's parents took her to the airport, then dropped me off on Broad Street in Newark at my request with my one remaining duffel bag of stuff. I was too proud to tell them I had no place to go, so I said that it would be fine if they left me right at the sidewalk across from the Columbus Statue on Broad Street. It was about 8 a.m. I'd just graduated grad school, and most of my friends from that time had moved out of Philly. I literally had to start practically from scratch and find a place to sleep that night — except I had one difference from Adam. I still had some resources.
First up: I used to work in East Orange. My boss there knew me, and as embarrassing as it would be, I knew he'd let me drop my bag off and make phone calls from my former desk. A short train ride, and I was there. Then I made calls to some of my friends. Two offered to take me in. One was gonna be a problem — he didn't know it, but I'd slept with his wife back before they were married. I felt it, in a belated fit of morality, that if he knew the truth, he wouldn't want me staying there. (I was right — he later found out.) The other was a fellow grad student who I didn't know well, but who had an extra room. So it was to Philly I went.
My bag was super heavy, and I lugged onto the NJ Transit, switched to SEPTA in Trenton, and then onto the blue line to 48th Street and Market. Then hauled that damned thing about 10 blocks to G's house. G. had an ulterior motive. She wanted me there to get her boyfriend jealous. He didn't take the bait. Two days later she gave me two days notice to get out.
I couldn't find a place the first day. The second day, I knew I'd be homeless the next day. How many people can find a place to live tomorrow? I thought I was utterly screwed. Even if I could find a place, I'd probably be struggling for several days or even weeks before I could move in. Plus, who would let me in without a job?
I went down to UPenn off-campus housing. Found a listing for a room in rowhouse near the Penn Towers. Went down and talked to the landlord. That was Ray, a retired UPenn administrator who had a houseful of young men living there. I told him my story, and he said, "Well, there's no room now, but we'll find a place for you."
It was a nice, tasteful rowhouse. I was able to move in, without references, without cash, without a job, right away. Whew! Dropped my bag; next day went down to an employment agency and got a temp job, started that one right away, too. Made some new friends Got my Peace Corps invitation within four months.
After PC, I moved back in, but this time I enjoyed it more. However, by the time I was 32, I found myself flat broke, dropping out of grad school (again), with no job and no real prospects. I had interviewed for professional jobs and been rejected again and again and again.
And it occurred to me — quite clearly — that I was no longer a suburban kid slumming in West Philly. I was now a poor man in his 30s who'd been knocked completely out of the middle class. Not only that, but I was once again heartbroken and worse, severely depressed. My ex-girlfriend from Manila called me up about this time and offered for me to move to Jakarta with her. I said no.
I still had access to office equipment from grad school. (I knew where the key was hidden to the Peace Corps office.) The education building was empty, and I went in, did my resume, and wrote up a cover letter for an editorial job or two. I sent them out, but thought I was beginning a long, extended job search. Nope. I was hired within a week and started within two, bought a car with my employment contract and no money down, and while it was lean for another few years, I eventually got myself into the middle class.
I don't pretend it's the answer to the American Dream, and I don't pretend there weren't advantages I had, and I don't pretend it's somehow a lesson for everyone, and I'm well aware how close it was on numerous occasions to turning out very, very differently. And still can.
But for now, thanks be to God, at least I live a comfortable lifestyle where I can contribute to society.
*****
Anyway, that's what Shephard's story reminded me of. That the question to the American Dream is answered one person at a time. That is, only you can answer for yourself, "Is the American Dream alive for me?" Answering in the general, instead of the particular, is meaningless.
Adam Shepherd, a young man who graduated college two years ago, wrote a book called Scratch Beginnings. He doesn't answer this question. In fact, he explicitly says he doesn't answer that question.
Instead, he answers this question: Could I get a car, an apartment and save $2,500 in one year, if I were dropped off in a random southeastern U.S. city with only $25 in my pocket and only the clothes on my back?"
The difference between the two questions cuts to the heart of the criticism of this book. There probably is a word for asking a general question when you should be asking a specific one. If there is, I don't know it. Because the difference in how you phrase the question is essential — at some level, the latter question is crucial to success or failure, and the former, well ... it can become almost meaningless in its abstraction.
"Is the American Dream alive for you?" is a personal question, and the only one you can answer. Can you own a home, a car, have a job, and raise a family? Isn't that the American Dream?
Adam's answer was yes. In six months, not a year, he achieved all his goals. He lived for 11 weeks in a homeless shelter in Charleston, S.C., eventually landed a steady job, and then through heroic frugality, managed to get himself into an apartment and purchase a used truck. He had $5,000 in the bank within 10 months.
There's been some criticism that, well, he's a healthy, strong, young white male and it says nothing about the American Dream. But as I've said above, I don't think that's the question. It's Adam's question, and he answers it yes, using old-fashioned values such as optimism, hard work, a great attitude, refusal to complain, thrift and focus.
And that can be inspiring.
*****
The book reminded me of something that happened to me years ago, something that's created a "before and after" situation in my life. There was my life before; my life after. August 1992. I came back from Manila, heartbroken and culture shocked, with no job, no place to live, no credit, and about $100 in my pocket. I wasn't going home to my folks — for reasons I won't get into here, but there was no way. Trust me on this one.
M's parents took her to the airport, then dropped me off on Broad Street in Newark at my request with my one remaining duffel bag of stuff. I was too proud to tell them I had no place to go, so I said that it would be fine if they left me right at the sidewalk across from the Columbus Statue on Broad Street. It was about 8 a.m. I'd just graduated grad school, and most of my friends from that time had moved out of Philly. I literally had to start practically from scratch and find a place to sleep that night — except I had one difference from Adam. I still had some resources.
First up: I used to work in East Orange. My boss there knew me, and as embarrassing as it would be, I knew he'd let me drop my bag off and make phone calls from my former desk. A short train ride, and I was there. Then I made calls to some of my friends. Two offered to take me in. One was gonna be a problem — he didn't know it, but I'd slept with his wife back before they were married. I felt it, in a belated fit of morality, that if he knew the truth, he wouldn't want me staying there. (I was right — he later found out.) The other was a fellow grad student who I didn't know well, but who had an extra room. So it was to Philly I went.
My bag was super heavy, and I lugged onto the NJ Transit, switched to SEPTA in Trenton, and then onto the blue line to 48th Street and Market. Then hauled that damned thing about 10 blocks to G's house. G. had an ulterior motive. She wanted me there to get her boyfriend jealous. He didn't take the bait. Two days later she gave me two days notice to get out.
I couldn't find a place the first day. The second day, I knew I'd be homeless the next day. How many people can find a place to live tomorrow? I thought I was utterly screwed. Even if I could find a place, I'd probably be struggling for several days or even weeks before I could move in. Plus, who would let me in without a job?
I went down to UPenn off-campus housing. Found a listing for a room in rowhouse near the Penn Towers. Went down and talked to the landlord. That was Ray, a retired UPenn administrator who had a houseful of young men living there. I told him my story, and he said, "Well, there's no room now, but we'll find a place for you."
It was a nice, tasteful rowhouse. I was able to move in, without references, without cash, without a job, right away. Whew! Dropped my bag; next day went down to an employment agency and got a temp job, started that one right away, too. Made some new friends Got my Peace Corps invitation within four months.
After PC, I moved back in, but this time I enjoyed it more. However, by the time I was 32, I found myself flat broke, dropping out of grad school (again), with no job and no real prospects. I had interviewed for professional jobs and been rejected again and again and again.
And it occurred to me — quite clearly — that I was no longer a suburban kid slumming in West Philly. I was now a poor man in his 30s who'd been knocked completely out of the middle class. Not only that, but I was once again heartbroken and worse, severely depressed. My ex-girlfriend from Manila called me up about this time and offered for me to move to Jakarta with her. I said no.
I still had access to office equipment from grad school. (I knew where the key was hidden to the Peace Corps office.) The education building was empty, and I went in, did my resume, and wrote up a cover letter for an editorial job or two. I sent them out, but thought I was beginning a long, extended job search. Nope. I was hired within a week and started within two, bought a car with my employment contract and no money down, and while it was lean for another few years, I eventually got myself into the middle class.
I don't pretend it's the answer to the American Dream, and I don't pretend there weren't advantages I had, and I don't pretend it's somehow a lesson for everyone, and I'm well aware how close it was on numerous occasions to turning out very, very differently. And still can.
But for now, thanks be to God, at least I live a comfortable lifestyle where I can contribute to society.
*****
Anyway, that's what Shephard's story reminded me of. That the question to the American Dream is answered one person at a time. That is, only you can answer for yourself, "Is the American Dream alive for me?" Answering in the general, instead of the particular, is meaningless.