Every week, I receive about, oh, five e-mails telling me about Che paraphernalia — these things proliferate like weeds. (I’m talking about the Che paraphernalia, not the e-mails.) Yesterday, I received two notes — the first from a friend telling me she had spotted Che wine, which, she was happy to see, was at least red. And this from a reader:
Last night, I ate at a diner in Skokie, Ill. Behind the counter, the cashier/cook was wearing a Che shirt – not your usual black-on-red print, but an embroidered shirt with complicated designs and patterns, front and back. . . . I remarked to him that he must be a Communist. He said, “No, I’m a Guevarista.” I decided not to pursue the matter, as he was going to be handling my food.
Probably a smart move. Got one more for you. I was on the golf course last week, outside Salzburg, and played with a man who lives in Vienna. (That is, he was part of our foursome.) He wanted to be sure he had my name right: “Jay,” I said. “Close to Che,” he answered — “like Che Guevara.” An American friend was with me, who remarked, “How ironic . . .”