Write about a sudden silence

Tony died a few weeks ago. He was one day shy of his 70th birthday. Although I was sad to hear the news, I wasn’t devastated. I hadn’t seen Tony in 8 years and hadn’t really spoken to him in about five. His last few years were spent in an assisted living center, his body ravaged from hard living.

Tony was a big drinker and smoked at least 2 packs of Camels each day. He ate lots of red meat and the only salad that ever touched his lips was made of iceberg lettuce, a few sorry shreds of carrots, and drowned in Western dressing. For those of you unfamiliar, Western dressing is a main attraction in the Midwest. It is deep red, fatty and tangy, much like Catalina or French. Tony would absolutely refuse to eat any other type of lettuce and, God forbid, no other vegetables. Those were not “real salads” in his mind, only some kind of west coast hippy food.

As you can imagine, Tony was not a looker. He was obese, with ashen gray, saggy skin, brown fuzzy teeth and slicked back oily hair. He was forever in flannel shirts and dingy jeans. And, my God, how that man smelled; of stale smoke and greasy food.

He was quite a shock to me, with my downstate Illinois upbringing and my small town, well mannered parents and grandparents. Where Tony was coarse, loud, ill mannered and opinionated (with hard core ideas based on little actual fact); I was used to quiet, kind, modest, and usually open-minded folks save for a few passionate topics. Tony was Chicago ethnic to the core, Polish to be exact. I had little previous experience with anyone remotely like him. He blew my eyes wide open.

Not to say that he didn’t have his good qualities, too. He was greatly skilled in construction, repairs, and mechanical things. He could be fun to be around and humorous at times; although other times he went too far. One evening, we went to dinner with Tony, his wife Mary, my brother-in-law Mike and sister-in-law Tara. Not exactly the PC police, but not on the “Tony end” of political incorrectness either. We were having a good time chatting and we had just ordered. Our waiter was an African American. Out of the blue Tony leans in and utters a racist joke, one I won’t repeat. There was a sudden silence. All good natured chatter instantly stopped as we stared at him in shock. He looked back at us earnestly, his eyes almost pleading with us to approve of his joke and laugh.

Mike deftly changed the topic and we went on talking. But I couldn’t help being ashamed of myself and the rest of us. I didn’t laugh at the joke but I didn’t stand up to him either. Did my silence condone his behavior or could I let myself off the hook? After all, he wasn’t going to change. He was older and set in his ways. Why should I make a stink and make everyone feel bad? But deep down I wished I had, because I can’t shake this feeling that a little bit of Tony drifted across the table and got stuck on me when I couldn’t find my backbone and shake him off.