Men of Action vs. Men of Wonder

My two favorite knights, meeting at last.

As chivalric friendships go, this one’s highly irregular. Then again, you have to remember that neither of these two are O.G. members of the Round Table. You could call these guys part of the New Class; the Warriors of the Realm’s brat pack.

One, the Hawk of May, is in all respects a city boy who grew up under the glow of Camelot. He had to make a great deal of sacrifices (and learn a few unkind things about himself) to step out from under his family name and become his own person. The other, whose name means “to pierce the valley,” well… he couldn’t be more different.

What strikes me most is that as contrasting as these two are, they didn’t seem to see it.

Ted Gioia has mentioned that in his former life, when his job required a lot of tense negotiations and international travel, it would take an average of five conversations to go from being seen as “The American in the room” to “Ted.” My experiences in Australia support this, as likely do so many of those who have moved to America from elsewhere.

Sometimes, though, I suppose you just know. When I met my landlady in Oz, we both had our reasons for being a little cagey, but I had an early hunch we’d get along anyway. I still consider her my closest friend.

This story’s also got another distinction: between the men of action, and the men of words and wonder.

Sagremore and Kay are cetainly of the former. And don’t get me wrong, we need people like that. When the patient is choking and going into a seizure, you need people in the room who know how to use an epi pen, not write missives about the state of modern healthcare. But I wonder how well we understand the need for the wanderers and daydreamers, too. It’s all too easy to see what happens when those folks leave your camp. We mock their silly notions at our peril; they’re the ones who keep the fear, suspicion and finger-pointing at bay.

The following wasn’t the first time I met George, although in the past he’s insisted that it was: it was a hot, late spring day and he bolted through the dorm, sweaty and flushed from hoofing it several blocks in the heat. “Does anybody have a bike I can borrow? I have my math final in 8 minutes and I can’t make it without a bike!” Sounded serious, so I unlocked mine and told him the combination was still set on the lock. Later, he said he made it on time and he passed.

George and I would go on to have a great many adventures in school, many of which I cannot talk about as I am not as conversant about statues of limitations as I should be. About a decade later, we met up while he was at Walter Reed. (He was getting what was at the time the precursor to LASIK.) We drank, hung out and talked the old talk until very early hours. He reminded me about the bike incident.

Hearing his stories, it seemed that his life diverged greatly from my own after college. Only one time did he speak about his military experience. “Man,” he said, “it’s so nice spending time with a guy who would never think to call me ‘sir.’”

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