Dear Editor: Please tell me the truth, is there a Sid Moses
– and a society named for him?
Dear Editor:
I am a maiden lady of 43. Some of my sophisticated friends say there is no Sid Moses, or even a Roses for Moses Society. But a long-time subscriber says, “If you see it in the Free Lance, it is so.” Please tell me the truth, is there a Sid Moses – and a society named for him?
– Virginia (last name deleted for sake of anonymity)
Virginia, your sophisticated friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of an age in which all things must conform to dollars and cents and the bottom line. They do not believe, except they see.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Sid Moses and a Roses for Moses Society. He and the members exist as certainly as high spirits and a touch of nonsense thrive, and you know that they flourish in many unlikely places, not just the City Council. They give a zest to life that is unfelt in communities that know them not.
You do not see Elvis, but you know that he lives and that you may chance upon him some happy morning, jamming in the bottom of your garden. You are not likely to see Sid Moses there, and certainly not jamming, but that does not mean he is mythical. Even the members of his society rarely see him, except at a mixer or an art exhibit.
The point is that he is there and everywhere that the human heart opens itself to wryness and whimsicality. And, to put it another way, look at some of the Roses for Moses Society members. You see them but you may fail to immediately perceive their distinguishing personas.
Consider Don Anderson, for instance. Hurrying past his florist shop one may glance inside and see a kindly man pushing petunias to patrons. But what one does not see behind his apron is the April heart that blooms with fancy and joy so profuse that it sometimes impedes his digestion.
Or regard Jim Sleznick. Unbowed by time and chance, he faces life daily with a ready smile and boundless optimism. Never mind that many of his friends believe he is unaware of the circumstances of a particular situation, he is happier than most mortals deserve to be.
Was ever any visage more somber than that of John Hodges while he is contemplating all the woes that daily beset the county clerk? Were you to press your ear close to his, you would not hear the elfin music from within, nor would your eyes see the ten thousand wonders inside his mind that enchant him, yet they are there.
Robert Scattini is outwardly a serious man, as he has every right to be as both the county marshal and city councilman. But even as he goes about his duties, pondering on terrorism and drugs and the 3 o’clock gridlock, his lips turn upward in response to a tugging of his inner spirit.
As for Mac Mota, we accept on simple faith alone that he exists.
The list is endless. All these men and many kindred spirits form the Roses for Moses Society, and Sid Moses is their inspiration even if he has yet to attend a meeting.
The society is an oasis in a trackless desert of logic and goals, where all may drink of its restorative springs. It is a place where “Why?” has long since given way to “Why not?” It is a condition of the human spirit that turns back banal practicality to allow admission to inexplicable joy.
No Sid Moses? No Roses for Moses Society? They live and their spiritual descendants will live forever! A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10,000 years from now, they will continue to make glad the heart of humanity.
