Not Willie Loman

By Richard Bonnin

John Tucker, a sharp-dressed, 50-year-old educator with a friendly smile and a penchant for smooth talking, would consider comparisons to the struggling and much-pitied Willie Loman to be patently unfair.

In his mind, John was a charming overachiever, quite unlike the fictional, aging traveling salesman who recognized the emptiness in his life and tried to fix it. To hear him tell it, in football parlance, John had managed to outkick his coverage during a moderately successful career that left him mostly satisfied.

He had, after all, parlayed a mere bachelor’s degree from a serviceable, but nondescript, public college into a highly sought-after role as a well-regarded administrator at a large, metropolitan university in the south. Such ivory tower jobs are typically reserved for those with master’s and doctorate degrees, so his career advancement was somewhat remarkable.

Nonetheless, John had an unfulfilled creative side that kicked in whenever he started to feel comfortable with his lot in life. It forced him to confront nagging insecurities, which now were no doubt compounded by his having crossed over the traumatic threshold separating vibrant youth and manhood into the unforgiving and cruel world of the over-the-hill (in his eyes) 50+ age group. He might as well have obtained senior citizen status.

This unflattering aspect of John’s fragile ego made him question whether he was good enough. Whether he was smart enough. Whether he was in over his head, soon-to-be discovered and exposed as the total fraud he sometimes believed himself to be.

Had he achieved success only because the right people took a shine to him at the most opportune times? Or simply because he played golf with big shots who surprisingly advanced him up the career ladder? Or, worse, was it because he could hold his own at happy hours, where his quirky sense of humor and utter lack of shame made him a hit on the party circuit?

Such questions dogged the normally affable John on those long, intense nights when he couldn’t sleep. Being surrounded daily by snobbish intellectuals, aloof peers and know-it-all college kids with trust funds forced John to face the reality of seldom ever being the smartest person in the room. Not exactly a boost to one’s confidence. If you are plagued by self-doubt, which sometimes overtook John – who was so abundantly average in most everything, including physical appearance and mental makeup – the ivory tower environment can seriously mess with your psyche.

Sure, he seemingly reveled in the attention of attractive young coeds, who flirted only in the hope that he would reach out to his vast network of contacts and launch them on a path toward high-dollar employment. This too easily appealed to his flagging self-esteem, but sparked feelings of guilt that took all the fun out of the phony attention. For certain, it didn’t satisfy his true and deepest craving: To earn the world’s respect and admiration for a talent he would own, and others could only envy.

He believed he had a knack for songwriting. A gift, even. On his best days, he allowed himself to think he had something special. He could string words and emotions together with ease, and, surely, he could somehow combine them in a way that would make people stand up and notice. For eternity.

If he could write great, compelling and memorable lyrics the world embraced, he might finally shake the damning belief that he owed his success to his low-brow skill of getting along with superiors – which on his worst days, a troubling voice in his head said was the unforgivable sin of brown nosing. And that, he knew, was the sorriest of reasons to climb the ranks, while others, likely much more qualified, continued to languish in relative obscurity and frustration.

Then, amazingly, it happened.

In his breast pocket, John always kept a little black book, where he would jot down the latest of his muddled songwriting ideas. None of those ideas, John knew, had ever led to anything close to a song worthy of acclaim. Forget worldwide, his songs hadn’t even generated local interest. Which further fueled his troubling insecurities.

But on this day, John took an entirely different approach. He did the most ordinary and mundane thing a university employee could do. He read a book. Not just any book. One that described the life of an obscure mob queen and drug trafficker known as The Black Widow. As he read, a torrent of ideas suddenly flowed through John. He excitedly recorded them all in his notebook.

Soon, the lyrics appeared to him, dancing in the air, as if destiny itself had intervened.

You wear low-cut designer dresses And bright red lipstick to impress us If the cops find you, you’ll be arrested With a pink rifle and a pet leopard

You’re a drug kingpin called The Black Widow You stay alive lurking in the shadows You’re deadlier than the pierce of an arrow But one false step sends you to the gallows

As if he was transported directly into the mobster’s hideout, John could see her in his mind’s eye. And he vividly, and faithfully, described everything he saw.

You post hot Selfies on Twitter You dance in the clubs like a dream that glitters You say you’re a victim of lies But you kill for the thrill of the violence Your glamorous beauty stayed out of the spotlight Till a rival gang committed murder one night They all thought you went down in the fight But they shot the wrong girl, and you took flight

You’re a drug kingpin called The Black Widow You stay alive lurking in the shadows You’re deadlier than the pierce of an arrow But one false step sends you to the gallows

The song’s ending came to John as easily and effortlessly as the beginning. Again, it felt to him as if the mobster was whispering the lyrics directly in his ears.

You model yourself after Kim Kardashian You wear short dresses to attract men But the foolish ones who fall into your web Have a nasty habit of turning up dead You stay on the run, with an army to guard you Your enemies are determined to kill you You’re always one step ahead, bathing in money As the blood starts flowing, thicker than honey

You’re a drug kingpin called The Black Widow You stay alive lurking in the shadows You’re deadlier than the pierce of an arrow But one false step sends you to the gallows

When you hit town, alert the undertaker More bodies will pile up, acre by acre You spin a web of death, from nation to nation You won't stop till you're assassinated

John stared at his little black book in shocked disbelief. He knew what he’d written down in its pages would soon change his life. And he wasn’t wrong.

A hip-hop publishing company advanced him $20,000 for the rights to what became a chart-topping hit song. He quit his university job and signed a contract to become a professional songwriter. At last, it appeared John had finally achieved VIP status that even his demanding persona could not challenge. And, he had the soul-filling energy and satisfaction of knowing he’d truly earned it.

But, of course, life is never that simple. Now, John was swimming in a fishbowl with uncommonly talented songwriters, who had devoted their lives to perfecting their craft. And he couldn’t keep up. No one at the publishing company was interested in a one-hit wonder. He soon fell out of favor, crumbling under the pressure to succeed, which was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

Sleepless nights he thought he’d put behind him forever, suddenly returned with alarming consequences. He painfully relived the nagging insecurities that made him question whether he was good enough. Whether he was smart enough. Whether he was in over his head, soon-to-be discovered and exposed as the total fraud he too-often believed himself to be.

Another hit song never came to him. The publishing company chose not to renew his contract. John fell as quickly as he rose. Now, he had no idea where to turn.

So, he did the most ordinary and mundane thing an unemployed person can do.

He read a book.

And he realized, for the first time in his meandering life, his true and deepest craving wasn’t for the respect and admiration of the world. That, he now knew, was all too fleeting. What John wanted, what he needed, was something far more valuable and important: Self-respect.

The next day, John enrolled at his former university and began pursuing his master’s degree…