"The clothes maketh the man."
I've seen a photo of the professer as he was lead away in cuffs from his house. He was in a red and white striped polo shirt, jeans, was looking a tiny bit overweight and a lot tired. His short hair and beard were grizzeled. The combination doesn't HAVE to be bad, but on camera, on that day, Henry Gates was looking bad. In fact, whether you changed his skin to white or left it black, quite frankly on the day he looked rather like a "deadbeat". If he was white, he would have been "white trash".
I've crawled in from camping trips looking that frazzled, I'm certain. In fact there's a camping trip involving a huge hike, an enourmous storm and a gruesome allergic reaction that had me crawl into the car with my long hair whipped into wild streamers sodden in equal parts of water and snot. Had bad hair days, unwashed days, sick days, and months where I've lost weight and had all my clothes hanging off me in a very unsightly way until I've been able to rustle up some "thin" clothes and a different belt.
I've also now seen Henry Gates on TV in his pin-striped suit, and also quite frankly, I only knew it was the same man because the TV said so. I'm not familiar with his face, so a shave, a wash and a suit suddenly made him look like a completely different person. A million bucks better. I have to admit that I doubt the neigbour/passer-by would have called the police if she'd seen him in his pin-stripe suit trying to break into the door. Maybe we shouldn't judge each other by our covers, but we surely do.
All in all, my biggest lesson from this is that I really should go introduce myself to my 10 closest neighbours in each direction.
Thank god I've got a system that means I rarely lose my keys any more. But during my teenage and early 20's, I'd have to estimate that I left my keys in the house and had to break into my own home a minimum of 200 different occasions. (Yay for dissociation!) Most places I lived in I worked out a handy window I could lift in and out of it's frame, but the last one I had to resort to carefully destroying a corner of the fly-wire, and then carefully mending it before I handed in the keys and got my bond back.
I guess I was always too small and fluffy looking back then to have the cops called on me, although each new time I had to figure out how to break into a new place of mine, I'd get painfully nervous about how it looked.
Edited, Jul 25th 2009 10:47am by Aripyanfar