THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, October 3, 1996 TAG: 9610030001
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A17 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Opinion
SOURCE: PATRICK LACKEY
LENGTH: 81 lines
Early in my journalism career (if career is not too high-flown a word), the only clouds I saw from my desk were cigarette and cigar smoke.
I always try to improve myself, and last year, after 26 years in the business, I got a desk by a window. Out that window I see real clouds. Nature's own. Their variety is astonishing, ranging day to day, even hour to hour, from white to black, wispy to thick, cute to threatening. Often there are different kinds of clouds at different altitudes. I keep meaning to buy a book that names the many cloud types - cirrus, cumulus, cirrocumulus, cumulostratus, etc. This column will be shorter because I haven't.
Looking down from the clouds, I see the intersection of Monticello and Brambleton avenues. On the four corners are Scope, the federal courts building, the bus station, and the tall motel that changes names from time to time. Two of the corners of my intersection have to do with travel, one with crime and one with entertainment. All are growth industries. The intersection should prosper for many years.
My view is from the fourth floor of The Virginian-Pilot building. I gaze east down Brambleton, which I just noticed is spelled Bramleton on my city map. What flawed creatures we are.
Craning my neck, I can see from my chair Brambleton's intersection with Granby Street, but I seldom crane my neck, preferring to observe, with neck relaxed, the Monticello intersection.
It is slightly asymetrical. Monticello has seven lanes, counting two turn lanes, and Brambleton has eight, also counting turn lanes.
Outside the bus station, the westbound Brambleton lane by the curb often is blocked by a parked cab or two, causing three lanes of vehicles to merge into two. All day long, vehicles do that, usually without any horn honking. Accidents are rare, though my intersection is busy.
The traffic would be chaotic, with bent fenders and broken bones every hour, except for the lane lines, the traffic lights and - most important - the sensible drivers.
When I picture civilization, I picture my intersection, with driver after driver doing the right thing. No one wants to stop for a red light, but they all do. If a driver is trapped behind the parked cab, another motorist always makes room for him or her.
Yellow traffic lights mark civilization's frayed edge, of course. Motorists who would never out-and-out run a red light speed up at a caution light to at least make it into the intersection before the light turns red.
Still, the drivers do remarkably well. Generally, they act as though they care for each other, whether they do or not. They make a person proud to be a human being.
Sure, we humans make cigarettes that rob youths of their health. We wage senseless wars. We misspell street names. But at my intersection, we drive well. We're courteous and considerate and all the things a Boy Scout is supposed to be.
One day, as I observed my intersection, my mind played a little trick. Probably because I'd been writing about the need for increased regional cooperation, this overworked phrase clawed its way up a dark tunnel into my consciousness: ``Hampton Roads is at a crossroads.''
Then for a moment I imagined Hampton Roads cities as cars converging upon my intersection: Hampton, Newport News, Portsmouth, Suffolk, Chesapeake, Virginia Beach and Norfolk - seven city-cars hurrying to get somewhere, trying to get ahead of each other.
One of the city-cars gets stuck behind a parked cab and none of the other city-cars will help it get out. The stuck city-car driver thinks he sees an opening, bolts for daylight, and KABLOOEY! A multiple-city-car wreck ensues, slowing or blocking everybody's progress.
One of the city-cars is knocked into a fire hydrant, causing a water shortage.
A busload of visiting manufacturing executives gets caught in the resulting traffic jam, and all pledge to locate their plants elsewhere.
Other horrible things occur because the drivers don't help each other.
What Hampton Roads' elected leaders need to do is observe a busy intersection for hours on end. They're welcome to sit near my desk and watch my intersection if they come in small numbers and remain quiet.
They could see how rhythmically and smoothly the traffic flows. They could imagine the havoc that would occur if cooperation among the drivers abruptly ended.
A really good intersection like mine is a beautiful dance that hints at how to live and even how to govern. MEMO: Mr. Lackey is an editorial writer for The Virginian-Pilot. by CNB