Nick Bromell, who teaches English at the University of Massachusetts and is “deeply opposed” to the Bush administration (which he regards as “dishonest and dangerous”), and whose best friend when they were youngsters in the early 1960s was Scooter Libby, has written a lengthy essay in the current issue of The American Scholar entitled “Scooter and Me”.
In the essay, he tells a story about his old friend that he says reflects “Scooter in a nutshell:”
More recently, as I’ve been dealing with the monster of colon cancer, he has found time in his incredibly busy schedule to give me an occasional call to see how I am doing. During one of our conversations, I told him about a Buddhist parable I’d found very helpful. For reasons that will become clear, it’s worth retelling now.
A poor farmer whose only worldly possession is a mare wakes up one morning to discover that the mare has gone. He runs to his parents’ house and breaks the terrible news. When he’s finished, they ask, “Are you sure it’s bad news?”
“Of course it’s bad news! He replies, stomping angrily away.
Ten days later, his mare returns, bringing with her a magnificent stallion. The farmer runs to his parents and tells them the wonderful news.
“Are you sure it’s good news?” they ask
“Of course it’s good news,” he declares, leaving in a huff.
Days go by, and the farmer decides to try to break the stallion. He bridles the beast, climbs on its back, and is promptly thrown to the ground and trampled. The village doctor informs him that he will be a cripple for life. When he can do so, he makes his way to his parents and tells them the dreadful news.
“Are you sure it’s bad news?” they reply.
He doesn’t answer, but he mutters to himself all the way home.
Two weeks later, a detachment of the Emperor’s army arrives to draft all the able-bodied men of the village. Of course, they pass over the crippled farmer. He hobbles to his parents’ house to share his joy.
“Are you sure it’s good news?” they ask.
The story has no end, of course, but the point is clear: we should try to experience what happens to us without judging it. Nearly a year after I told Scooter this story, he was indicted for perjury and obstruction of justice. I let a few days go by, and then I called to say I was thinking of him. The timbre of his voice as well as his words told me that he was very glad to hear from me. But he had no time to talk; he was on another line. He would get back to me later.
Just as I was putting down the receiver, I heard his voice again.
“Nick?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure it’s bad news?”
Bromell’s essay ends with his reflections on the “human complexity of Scooter’s life and work,” and his hope that “my friend Scooter [will] be proven innocent and [will] go home to his family.”
Meeting Scooter Libby briefly last year at a Jewish political event, I found him a gracious and likeable person. He could use a little help from his friends.