One morning, I walked past the place where the Living Voltaire usually sits, and he wasn’t there. He is usually there in his spot, observing the neighborhood, greeting certain dogs, talking to certain people, dispensing small pieces of wisdom like loose change from a pocket.
But that morning, nothing. No Living Voltaire.
The lights dimmed and the room came alive. It was one of those rare, breathless moments when everyone in attendance collectively realizes they are about to witness something unforgettable.
When the founders were forming this country, they were trying to get ideals down. Virtues. Values. All the things people argue about. But the one thing they could agree on was the First Amendment. Freedom of speech.
Three morning-walk stories about parrots, free speech, hidden community, and the philosopher on Voltaire Street.
