Three years ago almost to the day, I wrote here about the Winston Churchill Effect – that odd mass hysteria that causes whole nations to believe they remember events that never happened. In the post I related as how, as a child, I read a newspaper article about a boy my age who'd been poisoned by Hallowe'en candy laced with heroin, ostensibly given him by a psychopathic neighbour.
I'd invented that memory, sceptics assured me, on the grounds that no such crime has ever been committed, and newspapers would never report such an unsubstantiated rumour.
Well, this week I learned from the Secretly Incredibly Fascinating podcast (Episode #62: "The Strange Origins [and Stranger Persistence] of the 'Razor Blades in Candy' Myth", presented by Alex Schmidt and guest Jason Pargin), that I did in fact read such a story.
In 1970, Detroit five-year-old Kevin Toston died after eating candy that was later found to be contaminated with heroin. This was first reported in national media as a stranger-danger poisoning, before further investigation revealed that Kevin had most probably died from ingesting heroin left in his reach during a visit to his uncle. His parents, according to police, had likely sprinkled more of the stash on Kevin's Hallowe'en candy to camouflage the uncle's guilt.
I couldn't verify whether this theory came out true in court, but what's certain is that as the less-sensationalistic story dropped, so did coverage, at least beyond greater Detroit.
So I did read a real article, though several supporting facts I either added freestyle or conflated with other stories. Kevin's name, for example, was obviously not Richard. And my distinct memory of a tiny hole found in a candy bar wrapper, with the unvoiced implication that it had been injected with heroin, is similarly invented, though I'm getting a dim recollection of a schoolmate including that detail in a drugged-candy tale (either this one or another).
And though I remember that both of us were about 12 at the time, I was significantly younger, and Kevin younger still. A press photo depicts him as a laughing kindergartner in glasses, wearing a sport coat. And most significantly: he was African-American. So my memory of the two of us being similar in appearance was wildly inaccurate.
But hold the phone: on that last count, an intriguing alternative arises. In 1974 – the year I was twelve – Timothy O'Bryan really did die from eating doctored Hallowe'en candy, which was also initially reported as a stranger poisoning. And the photo run with this article shows a smiling, Cold War-coiffed Caucasian kid in a checkered collared shirt very like I used to wear.
(Note that once again, the culprit was family – statistically, far and away the most common perpetrator of child abuse. Turns out Timothy's father poured cyanide into his candy to collect on a life insurance policy.)
So one more time, no evil neighbour, and no rational excuse to deprive kids of the wonderful Hallowe'ens we cherished. But two such articles were published, and I almost certainly read them both. Over the years the two melded in my mind, and as the media seems to have done that thing where it reports accusations on Page 1 and ignores or buries vindications, I never learned that both were completely bogus.
(By the way, seeing as we're on the topic: in the podcast, Alex makes the cogent point that heroin is enormously expensive. As is cocaine, another narcotic frequently rumoured to be slipped to trick-or-treaters. One does not waste these things pranking random kids, any more than one bakes diamonds into cookies to break their teeth. And while we're up, drug addicts never give their fix away, regardless of what they're strung out on. They obsessively hoard it until every last grain is gone, then desperately scramble for more. Thus it's highly unlikely that anyone possessing these substances scatters them about for the dubious thrill of getting unseen children high.)
So the personal experience I shared in my January 2020 post is not in fact an example of the Churchill Effect. Though I've experienced others as well, the candy thing was just a pedestrian matter of scrambled memory – an extremely common cognitive glitch.
But in the cases of Kevin Tosten and Timothy O'Bryan, notwithstanding a little drift, I remembered something that actually happened.
Or to be precise, I remember actual newspaper coverage of something that never happened.
First I believed I'd read it
then I believed I didn't
and now I believe again.
(Photo courtesy of Evan Amos and Wikimedia Commons.)
"Nonsense!" replied Leonard. "We'll just get a better man to play you!"
Once that better man – Dick Van Dyke – was secured, the show went on to become one of the foundational classics of American television.
This anecdote has so many Zen ramifications it counts as a contemporary koan. How many times have I felt that my life would have played out better if somebody else had lived it – if karma had simply recast the role of me.
Such speculation isn't solely the product of our own delusional minds. We also get told this by those around us – that the problem is we're us, and that's what needs to change. Generally by people looking to profit in some way. It's rather a perfect storm of co-arising – our delusion playing off their delusion playing off ours.
The essential fallacy of this proposition is that if someone else had starred in my life, it wouldn't have happened. Nor would I. Nor in fact would they; a person living another person's life is… that other person. (And now we're back to Jason Pargin.)
Anyway, this notion that the only thing wrong with my life is that I'm in it, is the sort of image the Ancestors used to pitch to smash our brains out of their worn grooves. Is the suggestion a paradox, or is it me? Is there some deeper intent, or am I supposed to use a different part of my mind to understand?
Is it so obvious I can't see it? Or is it such nonsense that it appears plausible?
Or is this where I kick over the bucket? Because that part's fun.
By the way, Reiner had no hard feelings about the recasting. He completely agreed with Leonard's analysis, and was happily demoted from leading man in his own life to the role of Dick's boss.
In which character, being entirely unlike him, he excelled.
(Photo of the better Carl Reiner courtesy of CBS Television and Wikimedia Commons.)
But that's not the only Zen the article contains; another favourite moment relates to the 8 Worldly Dharmas, on which I posted this past August.
In Jason's words, human behaviour is ultimately directed by two desires:
1) The person you desperately want to be.
2) The person you desperately want to avoid becoming.
So that's 8WD all over again. It's also conventional Buddhism à la Thich Nhat Hanh, who emphasises the notion of mental "seeds", or impulses that arise in the mind and either get "watered" (i.e., indulged or praised) or "not watered" (left to languish).
Thich Nhat Hanh suggests we be mindful of these seeds – which exist unremarked in our minds till they sprout as actions, or even habits – and make conscious decisions to water or not water them.
And that's highly effective practice. However, I think Jason's insight – that those seeds come from somewhere too, and knowing where is important – is a necessary second level.
That thing you want – what do you think you'll accomplish with it?
That button that gets pushed – what is that wired to?
That insult that enrages you – why do you care?
That compliment you received – why does that please you? (And how about that other compliment, that leaves you unmoved – or even discomfits you. What's up with that?)
Those positive feelings that arise in a given event – what do you imagine you've accomplished?
That thing you do in a given situation - what are you trying to become, or not become, when you do that?
In Jason's terms, when you feel seeds begin to swell, you should ask yourself, "What do I want to be that's manipulating me to do/say/be this thing?", or "What do I not want to be that's manipulating me to do/say/be this thing?"
I like Jason's perspective, because it goes to the bedrock of delusion. Creating ourselves in this ephemeral world is a lot of what we do here.
If we can give that up – or at least leash it – we stand a chance of getting off this carousel.
(Photo courtesy of Unsplash.com and a generous photographer.)
Cracked.com's Jason Pargin (aka David Wong) uploaded a particularly cogent article this week. His general topic is why the level of trust in the US has dropped to all-time lows, particularly among the young. Along the way he delves into such issues as who has the right to judge others, by what right, and what responsibilities that right implies.
The entire article is very good – no surprise to Jason/David's regular readers – but I found the following passage particularly compelling, given that it expresses an ancient Zen teaching on where things come from and what they are once they've come. (Otherwise known as dependent co-arising.)
Jason calls this "The World's Most Unsettling Question". And it just might be.
Think of the worst person you know of, past or present. Hopefully someone who you know quite a bit about. Now ask yourself:
If you were in their situation, would you have done the same things they did?
You're going to say no, because obviously you're not a serial killer or Nazi torturer or Alex Jones or whoever you picked. But when I say "in their situation," I mean the whole thing. You'd have their physical impulses, including any illnesses or personality disorders. You'd have their upbringing, their genes, any childhood trauma. You'd have all of the information that they absorbed over the course of their life – and only that information – and you would only be capable of processing it in the same way they do.
"Well, that's different," you'll say. "You asked what I'd do in their situation, you didn't say I'd actually become them."
But... what's the difference?
See the entire article here. It's well worth the click.
(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)
Three years ago almost to the day, I wrote here about the Winston Churchill Effect – that odd mass hysteria that causes whole nations to believe they remember events that never happened. In the post I related as how, as a child, I read a newspaper article about a boy my age who'd been poisoned by Hallowe'en candy laced with heroin, ostensibly given him by a psychopathic neighbour.
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