Virginia Beach, Iranian Air Force, NYC sidewalks & the "sound of freedom"

Many, many years ago, me and three friends drove to Virginia Beach for a week-long getaway. Upon arriving, we stopped at a diner. The waitress, a middle-aged local, definitely got a kick out of the four Guidos with thick NYC accents. (Meanwhile, we were smitten with her twang.)

In the midst of ordering our lunch, we heard a LOUD whooshing roar. 

“What was that?” I bellowed.

The waitress replied with cool confidence: “That’s an F-14… (pause for effect) …the sound of freedom.”

It seems we were in close proximity to the Norfolk Naval Base. Thus, “freedom” rang out above this diner on a regular basis. 

The Grumman F-14 Tomcat is a fourth-generation jet fighter first developed for the U.S. Navy in December 1970. It was put into service in September 1974. The last American F-14 combat mission was completed on February 8, 2006, over Iraq.

Today, the F-14 is still operated as part of the Iranian Air Force.

One can only speculate whether or not Iranian waitresses equate the sound of its engine with any form of liberation. 

Back in Virginia Beach, at our motel, the gals by the pool were also infatuated with our manner of speech. Trust me, this inspired us to play up the whole NYC thing to the hilt. (But that’s another article.)

On the way home, the “whole NYC thing” almost worked against us.

The four of us split driving duties and Angelo took the wheel upon checking out. He hit the highway, ready to make good time on what would be at least a six-hour drive.

I was in the back seat and from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the state trooper deliberately cruising in Angelo’s blind spot. He was itching to pull over four shirtless Guidos in a Cadillac with out-of-state plates.

I warned Angelo to not speed up, not to change lanes, and to keep both hands on the wheel. The troopers stayed with us all the way up to the state line.

With our “freedom” returned, we promptly cranked the music (another sound of freedom) and ignored the speed limit all the way back to the Big Apple — with stories to tell, in our thick NYC accents.

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“Do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love, serve one another.” (Galatians 5:13)

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But what really is the sound or the feeling of freedom?

For example, when I walk out the front door of my apartment building… wait, did I just say “my”? It’s not my building, of course. I shell out rent to a landlord who long ago paid off the mortgage.

But anyway, I walk outside, reach the corner of my block (it’s not really “my” block, of course), and make a 90-degree turn. You see, New York is laid out in a grid and I’m forever walking at right angles.

I’m not free to meander in asymmetrical figure eights — no matter how much I’d like to. When I reach the next corner, I’m not free to continue. The light is red. I must stop or risk becoming one with an SUV’s front grill.

Do you see what I mean?

Hey, I’m not living in Myanmar. I know. But what are we talking about here? Is freedom just an issue of bigger cages and longer chains? Is it merely a commodity sold to the highest bidder? Must the majority of us sit by and drool while freedom fries on the grill of capitalist avarice?

To have more freedom than, say, a woman living under Taliban repression is not the same as being free. But it is the same as settling for less subjugation instead of demanding more liberty (or at least as much liberty currently guaranteed by virtue of the Constitution).

The “it could be worse” excuse is not a just way to judge the quality and/or quantity of anything — especially something that is our birthright.

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