Vienna Waited

I was drawn to Vienna by an impression, reputation, and perceived ambiance. The locale was drilled into my consciousness early in life when Billy Joel released Vienna (Columbia, 1977). In those days, I lacked FM radio, but procured many eight-track tapes through a "club" subscription. 

Vienna was a "b-side," back in the day when music was initially released on 45 RPM discs and each had a "hit" and a "b-side." Vienna was b-side to Just the Way You Are, and understandably received little airtime. That has changed. What hasn't changed since 1977?

The song beckons:

"But you know that when the truth is told 

That you can get what you want or you can just get old 

You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through, ooh

When will you realize Vienna waits for you?"

It waited a long time, but I found my way there in 2024. It was worth the wait. I walked Vienna alone one morning in the growing light. A beautiful venue cascading along the famed blue Danube. Footfalls were few that morning, and solitude was near pure as the city awakened.

This city is famous for its sophistication, music, and class. There are many orchestras across Europe, but Vienna is perhaps the world's capital for such sound. People attend in evening wear. There is class, sophistication, and reputation at every turn. Vienna is an embodiment of culture. She is an aristocrat of implacable sophistication. I reflect as I walk.

I am drawn from my solitude by a cacophony from a shirtless man on the sidewalk. He is recounting the ills and woes of his existence. A city maintenance crew, distracted from their morning attempt at collecting the avalanche of discarded, broken, and unwanted, paused and rendered aid to the man. I walked on. 

In time, as I made my way back, I saw the man interviewed by the police, examined in place, and eventually transferred to an ambulance. Certainly, the potential exists of some simple societal disconnect. As likely, there was an involvement there of man-made chemicals, too easily available, too simply misused, and too commonly fatal in our mortal world.

Here, in the epitome of class on the Danube, there are challenged people and those who strive to assist them. That was sobering. 

As I wander, I am increasingly mortified by the disrespect and vandalism of this elegant lady, Vienna, draped along the scenic river. There is a preponderance of tattoos and scars. Some would see these as decorations, consciously adopted as affectation or edifice. However, I have a lingering suspicion that these assaults were committed upon a slumbering soul, an unsuspecting or distracted socialite. They are not decorations, but scars.

As light chases the darkness, the volume of insult becomes more apparent, frankly unmistakable. The contrast between the city's tuxedo-clad symphony attendees, its historic charm and poise, and its wretched street vandalism, tattoos, and refuse are beyond striking.

I wander past a sidewalk cafe that has begun to stir. The outside chairs are chained together. Little would preclude theft of them all, but one may not readily steal only one. I ponder for a brief moment - "Who would steal a chair?" I gaze around the quaint square and marvel that any crime could coexist with this picturesque environment. And yet, there is the chain and lock. 

My wandering stroll reveals dichotomy, contradiction, and ensuing confusion. The vandalism, evidence of crime, troubled people, and garbage are neither endemic nor unique. Among the fair and beautiful, it is both dark and unexpected. Of all places to deface and defile with tattoos and trash, why here? Choosing a venue for expression and exposition, why the degradation and defacement of this noble lady on the Danube?

Who finds solace, inspiration, or validation in scrolling obscenities on the public edifice? Who finds art or comfort in this tagging, the vulgarity, the less-than-subtle innuendo and insult? Where does this destructive spirit and intent come from? In my bias, I admit that this scene in Detroit would neither surprise or disappoint. Reflecting, similar destruction in Frankfurt, observed only days before, barely registered. Perhaps naively, there is some acceptance of such debauchery and disrespect in some locations that is anathema in others?

I struggle to comprehend the effort that would be required to remove these horrific tattoos. As I reflected, I observed a cadre of workers struggling to merely collect the casually discarded cups, bottles, cans, and packages as I strolled a park. This detritus is scattered about the ground, mere feet from convenient and accessible refuse containers. It is not that they can't easily dispose of trash, but seemingly that they consciously chose the ground over the refuse bin. From where does indifference come?

My attention was returned then to the mental health outreach with the shirtless man. As I strolled homeward, the medical professionals were attending and the original street crew had returned to cleaning. I reflected: there is much that screams for attention. How is it prioritized, managed, and made?

What drives this vandalism? Is it dissonance? Disassociation? Disregard? Or simply defeat? How does society reach a moment of accepting such a reality? A vibrant, historic, beautiful city certainly deserves better. But to whom does that mission fall? At what cost, in money or in deprioritizing some other challenge?

For decades, Vienna waited for me. Despite the sad assault of years, the beauty, class, and ambiance are overpowering. The history oozes from it, surrounds and envelops. There is serenity, calm, and composure. Yet, I persist. What would it take to erase these stains of distaste and abuse? What would motivate the denizens to deposit waste in the receptacles provided, to care at the most simple, basic level?

Though I penned this months ago when Vienna was a fresh memory, I was reminded of it recently. The news noted mention of distasteful and rampant graffiti in my own Capitol, Washington D.C. That city of my youth I perceived as clean, crisp, and regal. Yet, in reflection, there were certainly parts of it that were less presentable, kept, and cared for even then. Everyone knew them and avoided them. 

Also, recently, there was the story of a clean-up to erase the graffiti committed on a cemetery in Florida. For some reason, some find joy, solace, or relief in disrespecting or degrading. Admitting that we might disregard these spray paint tattoos in some venues, who defaces graves and monuments? What message, intended or not, do they send?

The realization is that our history and homes are being vandalized and disrespected with increasing frequency. We are likely all guilty of overlooking it here and saving our disdain for when it is there. Perhaps if it is not in my neighborhood it is ok, or at least not worth my concern among competing priorities. And yet, there is no place for vandalism, vulgarity, and destruction. 

Why is it tolerated, excused, and allowed to remain? Is the metaphor lost? I suggest that our professions, the workers' compensation community, the interrelated worlds of medical care, risk, therapy, and more receive some measure of similar disregard or disrespect. Perhaps it is limited now to some neighborhoods we chose to ignore, but it will diminish us all as the ugly tattoos creep toward the beautiful, the parks, and the river. 

Why does deterioration spread? It is because it is tolerated little by little as the bigger challenges of life present and at times overwhelm. In time, perhaps we begin to simply accept or ignore?