Forwarded from alcoholic.exe
In September 1956 after drinking heavily at a bar in New York City, Thomas Fitzpatrick made an intoxicated barroom bet that he could travel from New Jersey to New York City in 15 minutes.
At 3 a.m. he stole a single-engine plane from the Teterboro and flew without any lights or radio before landing on St. Nicholas Avenue near 191st Street in front of the bar where the bet was made.
The New York Times called it a “fine landing” and a “feat of aeronautics”. For his illegal flight, he was fined $100 after the plane’s owner refused to press charges.
At 3 a.m. he stole a single-engine plane from the Teterboro and flew without any lights or radio before landing on St. Nicholas Avenue near 191st Street in front of the bar where the bet was made.
The New York Times called it a “fine landing” and a “feat of aeronautics”. For his illegal flight, he was fined $100 after the plane’s owner refused to press charges.
The darkness exists on two levels. One, at the edges of society, where the law ceases to care and men drift aimlessly. Two, internally. The darkness at the edge of town in this sense is personal as well–at the edges, around the seams of everyone there is a darkness being held at bay by the internal architecture they have built up in their lives.
In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to ever expect it. I am anxious to afford some alleviation of your present distress. Perfect relief is not possible, except with time. You can not now realize that you will ever feel better. Is not this so? And yet it is a mistake.
Here, racing in the darkness at the edge of town, he can be in control–he can win. Out there, back in town, there’s no place for him. He’s lost and will never have another chance at winning. Out here, at the very least, he can achieve a momentary reprieve from being one of the few who recognizes the sad reality inside each of us: that as long as we are dependent on outside systems and other people for our happiness, we will always be right on the edge of losing everything. Is it better to be in control and have it mean nothing, since you have removed yourself from the community, or is it better to suffer while remaining connected, unable to hide behind a veil of ironic detachment or cynical nihilism?
Here, racing in the darkness at the edge of town, he can be in control–he can win. Out there, back in town, there’s no place for him. He’s lost and will never have another chance at winning. Out here, at the very least, he can achieve a momentary reprieve from being one of the few who recognizes the sad reality inside each of us: that as long as we are dependent on outside systems and other people for our happiness, we will always be right on the edge of losing everything. Is it better to be in control and have it mean nothing, since you have removed yourself from the community, or is it better to suffer while remaining connected, unable to hide behind a veil of ironic detachment or cynical nihilism?