Earl, Taitung 2002

I don't remember the first time I met Earl. But, there was an overwhelming feeling that he should not be here. He just didn't have the adaptability for a culture as different from his native Pennsylvania, USA.

He was selling a telecommunications package to the local government. He married a Taiwanese woman he met back in PA. She was a psychiatrist. His 3 sons, from a previous marriage, were here with them, enrolled in the local school.

Earl was not happy. He made no effort to hide it. He tried to mask it with an acidic sense of humor. Whenever I saw him he only had bad things to say about the local people, about the culture. His only refuge was the only bar in town.

Once I made a breakfast date with Earl at the golden arches. I arrived early, sat with a book and waited. After a couple of pages I saw him crossing the street with the traffic light in his favor. He had to break stride for a farmer on a motorcycle. Earl yelled, “Watch where the f -- you're going ya' imbecile. What are ya' color blind?”

He sat down with an air of superiority about him that went beyond arrogant. He spoke loudly so that his conversation cut through the room. I made a feeble attempt to explain that he was not in Pennsylvania anymore and that he had to adapt to the local customs.

“But he ran the red light,” he cried.
“Well, not exactly. The old guy crept through the red light with his granny on the back of his 50 cc scooter at 15 kph. That is local custom. You gotta know which lights are optional and which are mandatory. That's the beauty of living in a small town. Not everything is so black and white.”

It was not unusual to see Earl staggering drunk and grumbling. I tried to reach his wife to discuss it with her. She seemed to indicate that she gave up. “He's on medication.”

I got a call from her one day. Earl was in the hospital. My first thought was,”Psychiatric ward?”
“Intensive care. He was attacked by some boys. They cut him up very badly.”
In the IC, he was eating all his meals through a straw. He whispered the story to me through his wired shut mouth.
He came out of the Amigo pub, very drunk. Some kids on motorcycles said something to him in Chinese. He flipped them a bird. They chopped him up with cane knives and split his head like a coconut, broken ribs, leg and both arms. He had bandages on every appendage, broken ribs, 200 stitches and his right hand hung from a thread.

Earl was good for parting shots. Through a wry smile, ”I gave them the finger, but they wanted my hand.”
At least he still had his sense of humor.