09/9/03’s illustrious band:

The Heartbreak of Treasure City

Brought to you by my literary hero, James Lileks (www.lileks.com).

Mr. Lileks writes a column for the Minneapolis Star Tribune. In the latest, he printed a letter from a reader who talked about longing, as a child, to stop at Treasure City, a toy store along a frequently traveled route. Treasure City promised all sorts of shiny new wonders inside, which were always denied to the writer because her parents refused to stop. Then one day, tired of her pleading, they did stop and she got to buy something at Treasure City . . . and it was lousy, and the magic was gone forever.

Everyone has a Treasure City -- more likely several -- a time when illusion fell away to reveal a bare, ugly truth. Maybe it was the time you recognized the track coach beneath the Santa beard or realized that Sesame Street was not a live documentary. Maybe it was when the glory of the learner’s permit gave way to the drudgery of playing chauffeur, or when the adorable puppy chewed up your shoes and cried to be let out in the middle of the night.

I’ve shopped at Treasure City many times. On two separate occasions, for instance, I’ve shown up for a new job, only to be told by the person who hired me that the job didn’t exist any more, and I could either accept a different position or get the heck out. (I took the alternative offer both times; one stank and one didn’t.) I taught at a university that praised the value of scholarship above all else . . . except the new hockey stadium, which was funded in part by cutting teaching positions.

Of course, there are also the girls who befriend you only for the favors you can do them (“Cute sweater! Did you get the answer to #3?”) and the boys who court you only for the favors they hope you’ll do them. Authors kill off beloved characters. Elected officials break promises. Captain Kirk shows up in commercials for long distance service.

So what do you do when Treasure City loses its sparkle? You learn to keep better company, for one thing. And you learn to appreciate the T’ai Chi posture Raise the Veil, the motion of which is very like lifting the wool from over your eyes. The more you practice, the better your vision gets. Eventually you see Treasure City for what it is and drive on by. And you keep on motoring, because you’re in the driver’s seat, and you get to choose where you stop.

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