Honor Among Whom?

Some of us have difficulty with authority figures.  It might be the result of experiences with teachers, parents, clergy people or agents of the law.  We might be scolded for talking back or other forms of defiance, but those who scold us sometimes tell themselves, and each other, that one day we will "grow up" and "grow out of" our distrust of people with power over us.

But some of us learn, as we get older, to be even more skeptical of anyone we're supposed to obey or "respect".  I mean, how many--ahem--elected officials make you want to be a more compliant and amenable to those who have license--however they might have attained it--to make decisions that affect us?  And, given the scandals we've seen everywhere from the church to the entertainment industry, what would persuade anyone to give more credence to someone just because he or she has a title, money or a reputation, however any of those things were acquired?

Of course, the question of who merits our obedience and respect has been around for as long as humans have organized themselves.  Practically all philosophers, and more than a few poets, writers and artists have dealt with this issue, if obliquely.  And past as well as recent events give us reason to wonder just who, exactly, should be obeyed, much less revered.

One such event occurred 75 years ago this month in Flagstaff, Arizona.  The previous month, gasoline rationing had begun in the US.  Interestingly, the reason was not that petrol was in short supply.  Rather, rubber was, because the attack on Pearl Harbor a year earlier cut off most of the supply--and military needed whatever was available.  Thus, it was believed that the best way to reduce rubber usage was to reduce driving.  So was gas rationing begun.

Five different kinds of ration cards were issued. One, the C ration, was given to "essential war workers" (including police officers and letter carriers) and did not restrict the amount of gas they could use.  In Flagstaff, one recipient of the C ration was a fellow named Reverend George Gooderham.

That didn't sit well with another Flagstaff denizen--one Perry Francis.  But he wasn't just an ordinary citizen:  He was the sheriff.  

So how did Sheriff Francis express his resentment toward the Reverend?  Get ready for this:  He took the minister's bicycle.

A few hours later, the man of the cloth realized his wheels were gone and went to the local constabulary.  The folks in the sheriff's office led him on for a while before "finding" his bicycle and returning it to him.

It's often said that there is honor among thieves.  But what about cops who steal--from clergy members, no less?

On Google, You Can Find Everything...Except Their Bikes!

Which will come first:  a perpetual motion machine, or Donald Trump not taking credit for something?

Or a bike share program without theft or vandalism?

A little more than two years ago, I found a Citibike that someone attempted to camouflage with gold rattle-can paint.   That bike was one of hundreds that have been stolen from New York's bike-share program during its four and a half years of operation. Most other large-city share programs have had to deal with prodigious pilferage; some, such as the one Rome had, ended because of it.

Turns out, municipal bike share programs aren't the only ones whose bikes are swiped.  On its sprawling Mountain View, California campus, Google offers bikes for its employees to use.  The problem,it seems, is that not everyone who avails him or self to that service is an employee--or remains on the campus after grabbing the handlebars.

It seems that some local residents view the bikes as part of "the commons" and "borrow" them in much the same way some folks "borrow" shopping carts from their local supermarkets or "find" milk crates nearby. Some of the bikes have been found on lawns of nearby homes, roofs of hotspots and even in a local TV commercial.  Even Mountain View's mayor has admitted to riding one of Google's bikes to the movies.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Google's bikes are adorned with the Lego hues of its logo.  While this makes them distinctive, it hardly makes them impossible to camouflage.  While Citibike and most other municipal share bikes are shaped differently from most bikes you can buy, Google's frames, with their sloping twin-lateral top tube, have a form similar to that of many European-style city or commuter bikes--including at least one from a certain company located at the other end of Silicon Valley.  Thus, it wouldn't be too difficult to disguise a purloined Google bike.

That might explain why some have been found as far away as Alaska and Mexico, and why one turned up at Burning Man in Nevada while others ended up at the bottom of a local creek.  It also explains why Google is now doing something that, frankly, I'm surprised they didn't do earlier in the program:  They are attaching GPS tracking devices to the bikes.

Hmm...Can you imagine if supermarkets and dairy companies started implanting chips in their carts and crates?

Both... Or Neither?

Was this ever a functioning bicycle?

Or was it intended as a bike rack?

Could it be that whoever created it is laughing at people like me for spending time--and a blog post--on it?