A Break From The Politics

Two weeks ago, I returned to New Mexico for a summer hiatus from the hot, humid environs of Washington. My journey's original objective was to make up for several months of insufficient Hatch green chile intake. However, I came away with something more profound that reminded me of the peculiar sense of human connectivity that distinguishes our unique part of the world.

A good host, I resolved to take my traveling partner to White Sands National Monument. As we steadily progressed in our hosts' 1992 GMC Sierra pick-up, I excitedly imagined the sloping dunes and sandy fun that awaited us. All was well until a faulty front-left tire blew-out about 20 miles west of the monument, ending our hopes for a care-free afternoon

Of greater import, perhaps, was the question of how we'd make it back to Las Cruces. Cell phone service was scant as the August sun beat down upon us, and fruit flies of greater quantity than I care to recall suddenly made our cab their home. Frustrated, hot, and short on water, we realized that we'd have to figure out a plan soon, or things would become quite perilous.

Finally, I connected with a towing company over the Organs in Las Cruces.
As I negotiated the particulars of our transaction, a car pulled over and slowed to a halt behind us. With a mirage-like quality, a man with a cowboy hat emerged and strode steadily toward our vehicle.

Wanting to know more about what this mysterious figure had to say, I told the representative from the towing company that I would call him back. I rolled down my window, said hello, and listened intently as the man peered into our window and reassuringly told us that he believed he could help. We popped out of the cab and made our way to the rear of the vehicle, where our rescuer happily declared that our spare was in good repair (before you scoff at the fact that I couldn't change the tire myself and dismiss me as an out-of-touch, "latte-sipping liberal", consider that we had been fortunate to not flip the car during the blow-out and didn't want to tempt fate twice by executing a shoddy changing of the tire ourselves).

The unnamed samaritan quickly set to work. Jacking up the car and loosening the screws on the ruined tire, he began revealing a few key pieces of his identity. A resident of Dona Ana, he commuted each day to Alamogordo, where he worked as a meat cutter for Loews and is the proud father of two, one a budding young musician and the other a former three sport stand-out high school athlete.

Our dialogue hit a potentially fateful snag, when I revealed my loyalties to the Bulldawgs of Las Cruces High, where I spent my Freshman-Junior years. The rescuer, a Trojan, jokingly told me that, under normal circumstances, we could no longer do business. However, wanting to be a goodwill ambassador for his alma mater on the north side of town, he immediately proceeded in his labor.

Finally, with sweat pouring down his formerly impeccably-pressed, white dress shirt and dirt and grit covering his hands, our new-found friend reported that he had finished. We immediately requested his address so that we could do right by him and properly express gratitude for the incredibly gracious service he'd performed. However, in a gesture that could not have been more telling of his character, he waved us off, insisting that he'd simply wanted to help two people in need. After a bit of back and forth, he reluctantly told his address, and we spent the ride home deciding the proper way to express our gratitude.

The broader point of this story is to show that, even in these troubled times, when it can seem so hard to find good in the world and people expressing compassion towards one another, if you look hard enough, you can see, everyday, examples of normal people performing extraordinary deeds, guided by the remarkable and irrepressible force that connects all of us as humans.

And as the political season hits full force, with candidates and parties trying to secure votes by deriding and denigrating their opponents, it is important for us to remember that, no matter the political party or ideology to which we belong, there is something stronger that unites us- that is, the human spirit and desire to do well unto one another.

But, as universal as I think this spirit is, I can't help but believe that is especially on display in our part of Southern New Mexico. Sam didn't have to help us. He was on his way home, ready to relax after a long day. Still, the kindness, compassion, and selflessness that characterizes this region lead a full-blooded Trojan to help out a Bulldawg in need.

I'm grateful to have come home, and I return to Washington with a renewed sense of what can be achieved when we take a break from the politics and get back to just being humans.