One Fine Morning

It’s odd, what you find when coming down from an acid trip.

I’d taken the acid one night at the Big Apple Circus. It was during the Lincoln Center run, and I had taken both acid and some ecstasy with my current girlfriend. She’d passed out, but I was still running pretty strong when the sun came up. New York has a great feel in the morning, when the city’s just starting to get rolling. I’d had an odd, unexpected conversation with the show’s general manager, Guillaume, about starting pay for workers on the House and Concession crews. It was unexpected because I had no idea Guillaume knew who I was, and odd because he seemed to actually be listening. Once that was done, I headed out into the street.

Lincoln Center, where the show was set up, is on the West Side, between 62nd and 65th street, and a couple of blocks away from Central Park. I headed south on a whim, wandering through the crowds of people just starting their day.

At the south-western corner of Central Park, at Columbus Circle, there’s a huge monument to the USS Maine, the sinking of which started the Spanish-American War. It’s 44 feet tall, and has, on the top, a woman in a chariot, pulled by three horses, with a shield on one arm and the other raised. The whole ensemble, woman, chariot, and horses, are a bright, almost golden bronze, apparently made from the recovered guns of the Maine itself. I knew none of this at the time.

That morning, the sun was obscured by lingering clouds, or the monument wouldn’t have been nearly as beautiful. As it was, the hidden sun lit up the gold statuary at the top of the monument, making it seem as though the golden lady was lit up from the inside. Combined, the still bright green foliage of the south end of the park, the lovely, triumphant lady, and the bright but hidden sun made for a heart-stopping combination. I stood, looking east down 59th Street for almost ten minutes, trying to burn the image into my memory. Then, feeling incredibly lucky to be alive, I headed further downtown.

I drifted down Fifth Avenue, probably thinking of seeing the statue of Atlas at Rockefeller Center, hoping it would be similarly ennobled by the magic of the early morning. I actually ended up finding something that moved me even more.

I’d passed Rockefeller Center any number of times, hurried through it a few more than that, but this was the first time I’d noticed the stone in front of the sunken skating rink. It’s no doubt old hat to most people who have even a passing knowledge of the city, but I’d never heard of it, or seen it mentioned anywhere. But I swear to god, I’m going to teach my children from this stone. It has carved into it:

I Believe

I believe in the supreme worth of the individual and in his right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

I believe that every right implies a responsibility; every opportunity, an obligation; every possession, a duty.

I believe that the law was made for man and not man for the law; that government is the servant of the people and not their master.
I believe in the dignity of labor, whether with head or hand; that the world owes no man a living but that it owes every man an opportunity to make a living.

I believe that thrift is essential to well ordered living and that economy is a prime requisite of a sound financial structure, whether in government, business or personal affairs.

I believe that truth and justice are fundamental to an enduring social order.

I believe in the sacredness of a promise, that a man's word should be as good as his bond; that character -- not wealth or power or position -- is of supreme worth.

I believe that the rendering of useful service is the common duty of mankind and that only in the purifying fire of sacrifice is the dross of selfishness consumed and the greatness of the human soul set free.

I believe in an all-wise and all-loving God, named by whatever name, and that the individual's highest fulfillment, greatest happiness, and widest usefulness are to be found in living in harmony with His will.

I believe that love is the greatest thing in the world; that it alone can overcome hate; that right can and will triumph over might.

John D. Rockefeller, Jr. spoke those words in 1941, on behalf of the USO and the National War Fund. And in 1962, during the last peaceful time in that turbulent decade, they were set in stone. And I found them in late 1999, wandering in the hazy end of a drug trip, while working at the circus.

Each time I read them, I’m struck by their beauty, and their honesty. I don’t know much about John D. Rockefeller, Jr., and I’m sure that there are any number of people who could tell me stories that would make his statement of principles seem, at the very least, disingenuous, but I don’t particularly care. These ten statements contain singular truth, and that is all that matters. It is a Decalogue that is worth believing in, and following.

It’s odd, what you find when coming down from an acid trip.