A Ramblin’ Man
April 3, 2022
A few weeks back, I was in New York, wanting to cross from the Upper West Side (where I’d lodged for the night) to the Upper East Side (where I heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art), and I asked a group of passersby how I might go from here to there. On other trips, I’d taken the sidewalk beside the narrow auto way through the park, hoping a driver didn’t lose focus and jump the curb. But I wanted something more pleasant this time around, so they suggested I take The Ramble
That sounded good, except I seemed to remember from songs I’d heard that the activity of rambling was kind of sketchy, not the sort of thing responsible people did. When I was 14, Nat King Cole lamented the difficulty in sustaining a relationship with his heartthrob, Ramblin’ Rose:
Ramblin' rose, ramblin' rose
Why you ramble, no one knows
Wild and wind blown, that's how you've grown
Who can cling to a ramblin' rose?
And, then, in my college years, there was that creepy song, Midnight Rambler, by the Rolling Stones. Steven Pinker says it’s a good example of how the ‘60s undermined civilization, in that it glorified the murderous rapine of the Boston Strangler:
So if you ever meet the midnight rambler
I'm coming down your marble hall
Well, he's pouncing like a proud black panther
Well, you can say I, I told you so
(And this was one of the tamer selections.)
As for my grad school years, I picked up on the Allman Brothers’ Ramblin’ Man:
Lord, I was born a ramblin’ man
Tryin’ to make a livin’ and doin’ the best I can
And when it’s time for leavin’
I hope you’ll understand,
That I was born a ramblin’ man
Well, with those cautionary tales in mind, I made my way through the trail network, and, best I can tell, I suffered no moral compromise for it. I felt no loosening of my steadfast commitments to honorable institutions such as the family, church, and civic society.