There is little likelihood of remaining a stranger for very long in a small town. Sure, the population has something to do with it, but there is something else- community. Kevin Bacon may have only six degrees of separation from everyone in the world, but in a village you are rarely beyond two. Walking through town, sitting in the stands of a football game, standing in line at the pharmacy, or having a cup of coffee at the local restaurant, you are surrounded by your own.
We arrived in Germantown late at night. I was returning from my job on a work-boat in the Gulf of Mexico, and the rest of my family came by moving van. We were all exhausted from our respective drives, so there was little desire to unload any of our furniture. Instead, we decided that mattresses would be the extent of our labor until the next morning.
As my wife Sharon and I dug through the tightly packed truck in search of a mattress, one of Germantown's finest parked his cruiser along the curb across the street. After studying us while we wrestled our burden out onto the ground, he got out of his car and crossed the street. He walked like a man who was just out for an evening stroll on warm summer eve.
"Hi, how are you?" he asked.
"Fine. Beautiful night, isn't it?" I replied by way of small talk.
"Sure is. Now, who are you and what are you doing here?"
He asked more out curiosity than by way of interrogation, but he had his reasons. "The owners of this house don't live here anymore, and I like to know what goes on in my town."
His town. At that time in our lives, it was a concept we did not quite get. But like every other resident of the village, it was his town. There is pride in ownership, and with it, there arises a need to protect. I was immediately on the defensive, like a thief caught in the act. We introduced ourselves as the new owners, and shook hands.
"I see. Well, you've got a real nice house here. Welcome to Germantown, and you folks have a nice night," he said with a warm smile. The officer gave us a two-fingered salute off the brim of his hat, and then disappeared into the night.
My wife and I watched him pull away from the curb to turn up Center Street, and considered the encounter. Where we came from, it was common to be invisible in a crowd. In the fast paced lifestyle of the east coast, you could live a lifetime amid a thousand people and never know even a single name. It wasn't out of any need for isolation, but more out of some preoccupation with our own lives. Now, having been in Germantown for less than an hour, we were fianlly noticed... and welcomed to the village.
Was he just being a diligent police officer? Maybe he viewed us as potential virus invading the host. Perhaps, but I prefer to remember him as the first soul to welcome us into our new home.
"I think I'm going to like it here, Hon," I finally said.
"Me too."
Silly, how after all these years I remember that night. I think people are social creatures by nature, and have an earnest need to connect at even a basic level. For that man to check us out and verify the reason for our presence in his town, I felt like I had just taken a glimpse into a universe as yet unseen. Within minutes, he might forget our names, but not our faces. We were now a recognizable element in the much larger mosaic of our town. For the first time, it felt like we finally belonged to something bigger than our own lives. We were members of a community, the village of Germantown, Ohio.
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