Fingers were made before forks and benches were made before buildings. The first bench was probably a log. Later, it grew legs. This is known as civilization. For 10 years, I sat on the bench in front of the Hyde Park Bakery and ruminated. Rumination is a prelude to creation. For 10 years, I sat on the bench in front of the bakery and talked to whoever happened by. The bench encouraged conversation. The bench was in front of the bakery so there was coffee to lubricate the vocal cords. An ideal bench has coffee available.
Benches are made to be sat on. For 10 years, there was always a place to sit and watch the neighborhood go by and talk to friends, meet friends, and now there is no bench and the bakery is closed. Something has gone out of the neighborhood. “Things fall apart. The center cannot hold,” says Yeats. The bakery was a center of the neighborhood and the bench was the center of the bakery. Nothing is the same. A man needs a bench.
— Albert Huffstickler
Albert Huffstickler is one of the city’s most respected poets.
This article appears in September 12 • 1997 and September 12 • 1997 (Cover).