spent two months in the hospital and almost lost his life. Ironically I came to believe that the safest and most peaceful place in Wausau was its ancient, sprawling cemetery, where I would periodically take walks (or more properly, wheels). In my darker moods, I preferred the residents of this fine cemetery to many of Wausau’s inhabitants because the corpses respect your privacy, they don’t yell, they are not rude, they don’t stink, they don’t ride their bikes fast at you only to swerve that the last moment, and they certainly don’t get in your way. In fact, it’s you that might bump into or otherwise disturb these citizens’ peace, and I’m very careful not to, since their hard edges might hurt you, but that would be your fault, not theirs, and they don’t do it out of clumsiness and recklessness. You are the clumsy one. They respect your space 100%, which can’t be said for a lot of people. What did I ultimately learn from my sojourn in Wausau, Wisconsin? What my naiveté and romanticism had prevented me from understanding pre-Wausau: That there are two Bedford Falls—the one full of ringing bells and laughing children and snowflakes drifting gently down, and the other of Mr. Potter weaving his webs and icy rivers beckoning jumpers and Mr. Gower slobbering drunk in a bar. There is utopia, and there is reality. After all, as G. K. Chesterton noted, “Certain new theologians dispute original sin, which is the only part of Christian theology which can really be proved.” R Page 34
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