Zen and the Story of the Good Samaritan

The sign near the door advertised “Bikini Dancers.” Sure enough, the women danced and the men stared.

Nobody smiled. The ambience suggested a hidden commerce in sex and drugs. If you tried, you might get someone to start a convenient fire or eliminate an inconvenient person.

This is where I met Edwin. He agreed to help me--for a price.

Allow me to explain. It happened eight years ago on a winter night in east Hollywood. One minute I’m pulling into a space at a mini-mart. The next minute my Mazda is dead.

I approached a car as it sidled against the curb. “Excuse me,” I asked the passenger as she stepped to the sidewalk. “Do you have any jumper cables?” She gave me a quizzical smile. The driver sped off. Moments later, as I watched her walk away, it dawned on me what she did for a living. My request must have sounded pretty kinky.

I struck out at the mini-mart and the Thai restaurant. The next stop was the bikini bar. The bartender was a woman who wore flimsy lingerie and had a voice that could cut metal. “Anybody here got jumper cables?” she yelled.

A reply came from the darkness.

“Anybody got money?”

He was, maybe, 20 years old. He wore an earring, a black leather jacket and a lean, hungry look. Edwin seemed an unusual name for a Hollywood punk, but then Edwin was an unusual guy.

When I offered him 10 bucks for his trouble, he shrugged. “Just buy me a beer.”

Edwin pulled his gas guzzler next to my car and hooked up the cables. The Mazda still wouldn’t start. We decided to let it charge awhile.

Time enough, it turned out, for Edwin to tell me his life’s story.

Came from Texas. Been in L.A. two years. He was a newlywed. A baby on the way. And he had a new job, delivering pizza for Domino’s.

Life, he said, was good. And he meant it.

He asked me about my life. Been worse, I said. Could be better.

Edwin nodded. He asked to borrow a piece of paper and a pen. He wrote something and handed it to me.

Nam Myoho Renge Kyo.

Edwin asked me if I knew what this was. “Uh,” I said, “it’s a Hare Krishna thing, isn’t it?”

“No!” Edwin replied. “It’s Buddhist.”

Simply by chanting Nam Myoho Renge Kyo , Edwin told me, he was able to fulfill his desires. Later I would learn this chant has been popularized by the Nichiren Shoshu, a sect disdained by other Buddhists because of its emphasis on chanting as a putative means of acquiring material goods.

Edwin told me that chanting had made his problems disappear. He gave me his phone number and invited me to a service.

By this time, I had tried to start the engine several times, to no avail. We decided that it wasn’t the battery. I needed a tow.

Then Edwin discovered that he had locked his keys inside his car with the motor running.

Edwin wasn’t fazed. He borrowed a coat hanger, bent it and snaked it over the door window. Within three seconds he had fished open the lock. His skill was astonishing, and I said so.

Edwin allowed himself a grin.

“Before I started chanting,” he said, “I was on my way to becoming Public Enemy No. 1.”

Edwin, you see, found salvation through Buddhism. I offer this tale because one of the world’s great religions got a bum rap the other day.

It happened in a rival paper’s story about Eric Ross Baer, a 30-year-old man who police say may have committed more than 200 burglaries, mostly in the San Fernando Valley. The report hyped a police detective’s speculation that Baer’s interest in Zen Buddhism somehow abets his illicit activities.

“Police say Zen practices aid burglar,” the headline declared.

Maybe dogs don’t bark at the burglar, the cop suggested, because he is able to adopt a quiet, meditative attitude that soothes the savage beast. An intriguing theory. On the other hand, police also say that the burglar feeds the pets he encounters.

The venerable Havanpola Ratanasara, president of the Buddhist Sangha Council of Southern California, couldn’t help but chuckle. “If a dog comes to bite, you just give him a piece of meat,” the monk said. “You don’t have to practice Zen Buddhism to understand that.”

Ratanasara wants everyone to know that theft is expressly forbidden under the moral teachings of Buddhism.

Whether Edwin kept the faith, I can’t say. But he was a good man that night. Along with his other surprises, Edwin turned out to be a member of the Auto Club. He called for a tow. Somehow the tow truck operator managed to revive my Mazda.

I never did call Edwin. Still owe him that beer.

I did, however, join the Auto Club.