Letting Clarence Drown

Everyman's decision.

Everyman’s decision.

An Off-Season Reflection

The bridge scene in Frank Capra’s It’s A Wonderful Life is one of the most meaningful in all of American film. Until recently, though, I had never given it much thought beyond what Capra undoubtedly wanted us to think about it. George Bailey, in a bind and contemplating suicide, has his mind diverted by the sight and sound of a man drowning in the river below–not a man, of course, but the angel Clarence, sent from Heaven to save George from self-destruction. George immediately climbs over the bridge railing and dives into the river, saving the life of another rather than ending his own. The lesson is plain and endearing: the greater suffering of others spurs us to forget our own troubles and not only come to their aid but save ourselves as well.

We would like to think that George Bailey’s reaction is typical, or at least reflects our own nature. I wonder. How unrealistic would it have been had Frank Capra scripted a George Bailey who let Clarence drown? When I think of all the suffering in the world–its innumerable gradations, from marital quarrels and lost jobs to civil wars and genocides, its rankings set out like some sort of class system of woe–I wonder how is it that we are able to determine that another’s suffering is greater than our own and worthy of more attention? Money “comes in pretty handy down here, bub,” George later tells Clarence as they dry off. But maybe George could have thought while still on the bridge: “This bozo is so stupid to fall into the river, let him save himself – nobody’s trying to save me, bub.” Or perhaps George could have hesitated, wondering about the danger, or ran and called for help. Maybe in doing so he lost just enough time to lose Clarence.

We rarely consciously decide not to come to the aid of others. We are simply preoccupied with our own problems, which always look not only bigger than they are but bigger than the problems of others. Admittedly, our own suffering can impose great psychic burdens that make it difficult for us to properly measure the magnitude of things.

We would like to think that every Clarence is saved by every George, but all too often George lets Clarence drown, and he himself (not to mention Clarence) is the worse for it. I can only wonder how often I have been a different man than Capra’s George Bailey, when the best thing for me by far would have been to climb that railing and dive into that river.

The Malaysia I Know and Love

Malaysia has been in the news lately.  I’m sure you know about the tragedies of Malaysian Airlines flights MH 370 and MH 17.  Unfortunately, the coverage accompanying these terrible events doesn’t come close to depicting the Malaysia that I know and love.  There’s much more to this Southeast Asian nation than the images of crash sites and flight maps.  A caveat here:  My husband and I lived, taught, and travelled in Malaysia for several years in the early 1990s.  We have also visited since then.  Recently I have been asked a lot of questions about the country, so I’d like to share some of what I know about this unique place and its culture. Continue reading

Big Times in Big-D


When you are driving to Dallas in July, the last thing you think will happen is that the temperatures will be below the high nineties. But when I pulled into the DFW Hilton in Grapevine, the Dallas suburb near the airport, it was only 82. In Texas, in July, this constitutes a minor miracle. It was the first of many pleasant surprises, and you might even be a little shocked to hear that I, Miss Lit on Lit-Er-Ah-Ture, was there for a conference to hear all about science writing.

Strange, but true.

I brought my son Christopher with me because he wasn’t named after the Patron Saint of Travel for nothing, and when we drove the long way from Houston, he read to me from a book called Ambush about Bonnie and Clyde. He had visited the Bonnie and Clyde museum in Louisiana, saw where they were shot dead, and wanted to disabuse me of any romantic notions I might have about them. He told me that Bonnie was really a waitress, (although he used the more politically correct “server,”) and that “she was just a tag-along, although they were in love.” When we walked into the hotel, the first thing we saw was the restaurant called “Bonnie and Clyde’s.” We looked at each other and laughed. Well, you can’t reach everyone.
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