that guy’s my idol and i don’t even know his name
(or: my first few hours in belgium)
michael estabrook
flew to Belguim in 1971 then took a train to Louvain to enroll in Medical School and become a doctor. (my one stab at fortune and fame, at making something important of my life; my attempted climb out of the abyss of my middle-class blue-collar upbringing.)
outside the train station in Louvain I’m leaning against a drab cememt post waiting for a taxi, trying to look nonchalant, as thought I“ve been here forever, feeling the gray drizzle wet my skin, when another American student strolls by, heading into the station I just came from. he’s whistling and swinging his umbrella: how can he be so happy, so carefree, I wonder? he must have graduated and is bound for home: nope, he shakes his head, ”I’ve only been here twenty minutes, but that’s enought for me.” he reaches out his hand, smilling, to shake mine. “good luck,” he winks.
I stare dumbfounded down the long long boulebard stretching away before me called Bondgenotenlaan. (Bondgenotenlaan?) I can barely discern the 12th century town hall (a masterpiece of Medieval architecture, so I’m told) far away in the misty distance, in the town’s center. tiny dirty cars whiz by, honking and spewing exhaust, and I’m thinking, “what does he know that I don’t?”
20 years later I understand what he knew - that I should have left right then, with him, turned on my heels and marched back to the airport, head held high, rather than stay there learning Flemish (a very useful tongue) and studying my brains out for the next 2 years, memorizing reams of useless information about blood vessels and bones, sinews and diseases, before leaving, before finally realizing what he realized in only 20 brief minutes in the rain. yup, that guy’s my idol and I don’t even know his name.
