Malcolm X: esprit d'escalier

Supposedly, "esprit d'escalier" is the phrase to be used when you think of just the right thing to say—but too late.* There should be a phrase in English to describe that all-too-common scenario. O perspicacious audience, you may have guessed that one such scenario is the topic of my post.

Yesterday I attended a Juneteenth celebration, primarily to staff the table for our local bookstore cooperative, although it was also refreshing just to be in a less Madison-y atmosphere for a while.** And I also had hoped for some good BBQ.

While I was standing in a long, slow line for the BBQ, I gradually became aware that the two people behind me were talking in that artificially bright, slightly loud, performing kinda way that people do when they're hoping to draw others (in this case, me) into their conversation.

They appeared to be a straight white couple with a small Black boy about seven years old. I didn't think anything of this initially—there was a sprinkling of "people of pallor" throughout the crowd, more than a few with Black children—but it became clear that the people behind me weren't very comfortable with the child or the crowd. This was extremely annoying.

I ignored it as long as I could, until the man said to the child, "Look, on the shirt, that's the same Henry as in Henry Hikes To Fitchburg."

He was referring to my classy John Brown t-shirt (order yours here), which features a quote from Henry David Thoreau on the back.

The man repeated his comment, then finally addressed me directly: "Have you ever read Henry Hikes to Fitchburg?" and proceeded to tell me the plot with a sort of mildly desperate cheefulness.

I didn't respond to the man, but asked the little boy, "Is that a book you like?" He had been fidgeting and looking around nervously, but now he looked up at me and his face lit up as he smiled and nodded. "You like to read, huh?" Again the rapturous smile & quick nod. "Well, you should come to our table, Rainbow Bookstore—we have lots of kids' books. We're over there under the tent."

The man (I hesitated to assume he was a Dad because he just didn't seem to know the child very well) said, "Oh, yeah, we were there. I saw you had a kids' book about Malcolm X."

"That's a good one—it just sold," I replied. Earlier I had flipped through it with little girl while she waited for her Mom. It had the usual themes of Malcolm X's story: troubled youth, self-education, religious conversion, fight for justice, and the widening of his vision in his last few years of life. I wasn't too impressed with the illustrations, but hey.

He scrunched his face. "I was kinda surprised—that's hardly a lifestyle that seems appropriate for a children's book."

	I think I wouldn't have been as thrown if he had said "philosophy" or even "person." But... lifestyle??? What does he even think he's talking about??? What I immediately wanted to say was, "Do you know ANYTHING about Malcolm X?"
LIFESTYLE: BAD

But I didn't say that.

I wondered if he was talking about the "troubled youth" part of it, and thought of saying something about how kids grow up in all kinds of families and need to see their own experiences reflected in their books. But I didn't say that either.

I could have said, "Oh, you mean that whole 'clean-living religious guy' shtick? Well, sure, everyone has their flaws."

Instead of any of these retorts, I just sputtered. "I—you can't really—it all depends on—I mean—"

"We like Charlie Parker Played Be Bop," the man said, his desperation beginning to overtake his cheerfulness as he realized we were not exactly on the same page. "That's a great book." Here, I could have said, "Oh, Charlie Parker—I totally agree; much better role model. D'y'ever hear about that time he accidentally set fire to his hotel room? Ran out of the building drunk and naked except for his socks. I think that was what made him decide to quit drinking and go back to heroin."

LIFESTYLE: GOOD

But I didn't say that either.

I sputtered some more, fluttered my hands a little, then just turned around and resumed ignoring them. I'm sure they were relieved.

As I took my BBQ back to the shade, I realized I should have just said exactly what I first thought. I should have said, "What do you mean by that?"

It would have been fun. He would have been the one sputtering, and he probably would've dug himself in deeper. I could have just stared at him and enjoyed his predicament. And I would also now know the answer to my question, which is...what the hell was he talking about?

Oh, and the funny thing is, the Thoreau quote on my shirt? It's a quote from a speech Thoreau made in defense of John Brown. It ends (on the shirt anyway) with "I shall not be forward to think him mistaken in his method who quickest succeeds to liberate the slave." Which is pretty much an old-fashioned way of saying, "by any means necessary."

I think that's another reason I was caught off-guard—I assumed anyone who'd read my back would know what to expect from my front. Obviously this was my first mistake: assuming the guy could actually read anything tougher than Henry Hikes to Fitchburg. Which, incidentally, casts a bear in the role of Thoreau.

That poor kid is gonna be so confused.

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*
When I was a kid my mom used to say that (yeah yeah, Bourdiette, cultural capital yadda yadda), with the gloss that the stairs in question were the ones you ascend on the way to bed. Recently I read somewhere that they were the stairs you descend as you leave a house where you have attended a party. Either way, there should be an English equivalent. If you know of one or have a suggestion, please advise asap.

**The fact that it was not overwhelmingly & obliviously white was extremely refreshing, but after a while, it was Madison-y in a different way—most of the entertainment (in whose tent we were trapped at the bookstore table) couldn't sing and there was a depressing absence of signs of political activism or awareness—though there was a gigantic church tent. And the ribs weren't even that good.