Jingle Bell Rock and Heroin

The street ministry staff decorated the main room with poinsettias on the tables and white lights strung on the walls.

It all really popped. It put me in the mood. Maybe it would others. There is considerable intangible value in that mood, even for the homeless. Does that sound presumptuous? I don't give a shit. I've seen the positive effect of holiday decoration with my own eyes.

I served pastries, cereal and coffee. Men and women moved slowly in line. They carried their breakfasts to the tables and settled into chairs. A heavy fog of fatigue descended over the room—the fog of some kind of American war, a war with no end in sight and a growing casualty list. But of course, like all American wars, multiple corporations are making obscene profits from the waging of it.

Where these men and women would go after breakfast was totally beyond my imagination. Perhaps I should ask them.

An old man wearing a cast on his left leg dialed up “Jingle Bell Rock” by Gene Autry on his phone. It sounded nice. I'd always liked the song. I once played guitar in a rock band that performed it in my classroom at an open mic Christmas event. We nailed it, as I recall.

Most of the 15 or 20 men or women sitting at the tables fiddled on their phones. Several nodded off while doing so. Seeing that was a first in my life.

“Jingle Bell Rock” ended. A staffer roamed the room listening to music on his phone. It was “Heroin” by Lou Reed. I knew the song. My mediocre rock band butchered it once in the mid 90s even though none of us had had ever used heroin. It is a dark, dark anthem of American death and dissipation that seems more timely now than when it was originally released in 1967.

“Jingle Bell Rock” and “Heroin.” What a bizarre, jarring and unforgettable sonic juxtaposition and contradiction. And it seemed so utterly perfect for the holiday season during the New American Diaspora.