I have no idea what caused me to have the following thought last night, while watching Tea With Mussolini (an excellent movie by Franco Zefferelli), with Cher and the incomparable Maggie Smith. Perhaps, it was the large bust of the title character behind his desk. Anyways…
It must be difficult for anyone, whose self-regard is so great that he or she cannot understand why other people do not recognize his or her greatness and erect a statue for all to marvel at. Some, surely, commission such a work of “art” and allow friends (ie. sycophants), family, and visitors to marvel at and compliment. Others must settle for staring at themselves in mirrors.
Most statues of someone unknown or unfamiliar attract only mild curiosity. Few, if any, bother to consult Wikipedia…which might not even contain an entry of the obscure ones, who would surely be chagrinned to learn of such a slight. None of the characters, regardless of his or her importance at the time or size of ego would be pleased to learn that he or she has become the final resting spot of pigeon droppings and something unable to attract interest of humans.
Unfortunately for above-mentioned egomaniacs, statues seem to be so 19th century. So, the likes of Donald Trump, Newt Gingrich, and Rush Scumbag will be forced to go to the grave without being able to marvel at his visage beneath a pigeon roost.
Prior to writing novels, the author enjoyed a multifaceted career: from decorated combat aviator to advertising professional to global communications director of a major consumer brand. He has traveled the world and met sports, film and television stars, political leaders, and royalty. He graduated from Middlebury College, is married, lives in Germany, and has two grown children.