“Things Happen For a Reason.” That’s what the bumper sticker of the green Fiat in front of me said, as I made my way down the snowy road, exiting Westmoreland County on Tuesday of this week. There was another bumper sticker, pro Bernie. Usually, that would have triggered me. Someone driving a green Fiat with a Bernie sticker...Christ on a Bike, that’s so freakin’ so cliche! But that day I was feeling contemplative. It was partly the weather. Fresh snow softened the harder edges of everything in sight. It was also why I was where I was. I had just been handed a heaping plate of humiliation by a local judge inside the County Courthouse where I had showed up to fight a traffic violation. From the fiery lecture that had rained down from the bench, you’d have thought I was the criminal of the century, instead of just some poor loser who didn’t know about Wayz yet, and ended up caught in a speeding trap set by a predictably zealous PA State Trooper.
For those of you unfamiliar with this area, the county seat is located in a mediumish town called Greensburg. As I had arrived that morning, I made note of the “good bones” — Victorian homes, a pretty shopping district — but also the empty shops and peeling paint. It seemed like a place that’s good times had passed, but might be trying for a come-back. I circled the block, failing to find parking, and finally settling for a spot a block away on a quiet side street. As coincidence would have it, when I emerged from my car I found my self facing the county Republican committee office. the first thing I noticed, naturally, were not one but two Trump Pence signs. I won’t lie — I was immediately triggered. Then I noticed all the other signs indicating the county’s current Congressional candidate. I honestly didn’t even take note of the name. I rolled my eyes and moved on. A few doors down, an unopened storefront displayed the Ten Commandments. It was starting to get predictable. I crunched through the wintry mix up the hill to the courthouse.
The fourth floor courtroom was packed with folks looking for a break. The white-haired gentleman on the bench, the bailiffs and the court reporters clacking away, all imbued capability, efficiency and order. I was nervous for my turn but comforted at the same time, and more than all of that, curious to see how things would go for those whose names were called before mine. As I settled in my seat, a woman stood before the judge, a bit younger than me and probably of mixed race. She answered questions in a clear, honest voice. The judge liked her. He let her off and then, to my surprise, started asking her personal questions. Where do you live, how are your kids doing. He had a genuine interest in her answers and gave her encouragement to keep fighting the good fight, working those 3 jobs, getting her kids to stay in school. She talked about the guns flooding her neighborhood, how young kids even had them now, and he lamented with her. I was starting to re-evaluate the town. This didn’t feel like the tough-talking justice espoused by Republicans. It was kinder, more effective.
Then came my turn, and I took my drubbing. There were people in the room who could be living paycheck to paycheck. I wore a new coat and clean boots. After he finally accepted my guilty plea in exchange for a reduced speed and I left the room, I thought to myself that he was putting on a show. He wanted everyone in that room to understand that justice didn’t care if you were rich or poor. In fact, his brand of justice might just have leaned a bit in favor of those down on their luck. I was ok with that. I respected it.
It then being around lunchtime, and myself being someone who does not pass up an opportunity to try local eats, as soon as I was back in my car, I was on the lookout for someplace offering something interesting. It wasn’t long before I happened upon a Mediterranean coffee shop. Well, now that is not something you see everyday, let alone in Westmoreland County! I ordered shwarma (pure, unadulterated happiness on a plate) surrounded by the hum of people speaking musically in a Persian language of some kind. Ah, Greensburg had won me over.
Back in my car, a bit later, I found myself behind the fiat with the “Everything Happens for a Reason” message. Life isn’t magical, I thought. Things have reason because you make them have reason. I wondered how, rather than sitting around waiting for meaning to come to me, I could take what had happened that day and make it have meaning. I thought back to the county Congressional race and vowed to find out who the D candidate was and make a donation.
Then forgot about it.
Until I read this NYTimes article this morning: www.nytimes.com/…
Holy smokes. Sometimes life IS magical — guess who just donated to help elect Conor Lamb! Check him out people, he looks pretty impressive. It sure would be fantastic to see a Democrat take that district.
Oh, and by the way, I checked the judge and he is a Democrat.
Updated to use correct map — thanks!!