Poetry Unit - Mrs Sutherland's English Classroom



The Pedestrian

by Ray Bradbury

About the Author

|Ray Douglas Bradbury (born August 22, 1920) is an American fantasy, horror, |[pic] |

|science fiction, and mystery writer known best for The Martian Chronicles, a | |

|1950 book which has been described both as a short story collection and a novel,| |

|and his 1953 dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451. | |

| | |

|His grandfather and great-grandfather were newspaper publishers, and not | |

|surprisingly, Bradbury was a reader and writer throughout his youth. Having been| |

|influenced by science fiction heroes like Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers he began | |

|to publish science fiction stories in fanzines in 1938. He became a full-time | |

|writer by the end of 1942. | |

Many of his stories have been adapted into movie screenplays and drama scripts. Director Jack Arnold first brought Bradbury to the big screen in 1953 with the now classic sci-fi movie It Came from Outer Space, a screenplay developed from Bradbury's The Meteor. Three weeks later came the release of The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms (1953), based on Bradbury's The Fog Horn, about a sea monster mistaking the sound of a fog horn for the mating cry of a female. Over the next 50 years, more than 35 features, shorts and TV movies were based on Bradbury stories or screenplays. For his contribution to the motion picture industry, Ray Bradbury was given a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

An asteroid is named in his honor “(9766) Bradbury”, along with a crater on the moon called "Dandelion Crater" (named after his novel, Dandelion Wine).

The Pedestrian

To enter out into that silence that was the city at eight o'clock of a misty evening in November, to put your feet upon that buckling concrete walk, to step over grassy seams and make your way, hands in pockets, through the silences, that was what Mr. Leonard Mead most dearly loved to do. He would stand upon the corner of an intersection and peer down long moonlit avenues of sidewalk in four directions, deciding which way to go, but it really made no difference; he was alone in this world of A.D. 2053, or as good as alone, and with a final decision made, a path selected, he would stride off, sending patterns of frosty air before him like the smoke of a cigar.

Sometimes he would walk for hours and miles and return only at midnight to his house. And on his way he would see the cottages and homes with their dark windows, and it was not unequal to walking through a graveyard where only the faintest glimmers of firefly light appeared in flickers behind the windows. Sudden gray phantoms seemed to manifest upon inner room walls where a curtain was still undrawn against the night, or there were whisperings and murmurs where a window in a tomb-like building was still open.

Mr. Leonard Mead would pause, cock his head, listen, look, and march on, his feet making no noise on the lumpy walk. For long ago he had wisely changed to sneakers when strolling at night, because the dogs in intermittent squads would parallel his journey with barkings if he wore hard heels, and lights might click on and faces appear and an entire street be startled by the passing of a lone figure, himself, in the early November evening.

On this particular evening he began his journey in a westerly direction, toward the hidden sea. There was a good crystal frost in the air; it cut the nose and made the lungs blaze like a Christmas tree inside; you could feel the cold light going on and off, all the branches filled with invisible snow. He listened to the faint push of his soft shoes through autumn leaves with satisfaction, and whistled a cold quiet whistle between his teeth, occasionally picking up a leaf as he passed, examining its skeletal pattern in the infrequent lamplights as he went on, smelling its rusty smell.

"Hello, in there," he whispered to every house on every side as he moved. "What's up tonight on Channel 4, Channel 7, Channel 9? Where are the cowboys rushing, and do I see the United States Cavalry over the next hill to the rescue?"

The street was silent and long and empty, with only his shadow moving like the shadow of a hawk in midcountry. If he closed his eyes and stood very still, frozen, he could imagine himself upon the center of a plain, a wintry, windless Arizona desert with no house in a thousand miles, and only dry river beds, the streets, for company.

"What is it now?" he asked the houses, noticing his wrist watch. "Eight-thirty P.M.? Time for a dozen assorted murders? A quiz? A revue? A comedian falling off the stage?"
     

Was that a murmur of laughter from within a moon-white house? He hesitated, but went on when nothing more happened. He stumbled over a particularly uneven section of sidewalk. The cement was vanishing under flowers and grass. In ten years of walking by night or day, for thousands of miles, he had never met another person walking, not once in all that time.

He came to a cloverleaf intersection which stood silent where two main highways crossed the town. During the day it was a thunderous surge of cars, the gas stations open, a great insect rustling and a ceaseless jockeying for position as the scarab-beetles, a faint incense puttering from their exhausts, skimmed homeward to the far directions. But now these highways, too, were like streams in a dry season, all stone and bed and moon radiance.

He turned back on a side street, circling around toward his home. He was within a block of his destination when the lone car turned a corner quite suddenly and flashed a fierce white cone of light upon him. He stood entranced, not unlike a night moth, stunned by the illumination, and then drawn toward it.

A metallic voice called to him:

"Stand still. Stay where you are! Don't move!"
     

He halted.

"Put up your hands!"
     

"But-" he said.

"Your hands up! Or we'll shoot!"

The police, of course, but what a rare, incredible thing; in a city of three million, there was only one police car left, wasn't that correct? Ever since a year ago, 2052, the election year, the force had been cut down from three cars to one. Crime was ebbing; there was no need now for the police, save for this one lone car wandering and wandering the empty streets.

"Your name?" said the police car in a metallic whisper. He couldn't see the men in it for the bright light in his eyes.

"Leonard Mead," he said.

"Speak up!"

"Leonard Mead!"

"Business or profession?"

"I guess you'd call me a writer."

"No profession," said the police car, as if talking to itself. The light held him fixed, like a museum specimen, needle thrust through chest.

"You might say that," said Mr. Mead. He hadn't written in years. Magazines and books didn't sell any more. Everything went on in the tomblike houses at night now, he thought, continuing his fancy. The tombs, ill-lit by television light, where the people sat like the dead, the gray or multicolored lights touching their faces, but never really touching them.

"No profession," said the phonograph voice, hissing.

"What are you doing out?"

"Walking," said Leonard Mead.

"Walking!"

"Just walking," he said simply, but his face felt cold.

"Walking, just walking, walking?"

"Yes, sir."

"Walking where? For what?"

"Walking for air. Walking to see."

"Your address!"

"Eleven South Saint James Street."

"And there is air in your house, you have an air conditioner, Mr. Mead?"

"Yes."

"And you have a viewing screen in your house to see with?"

"No."

"No?" There was a crackling quiet that in itself was an accusation.

"Are you married, Mr. Mead?"

"No."

"Not married," said the police voice behind the fiery beam. The moon was high and clear among the stars and the houses were gray and silent.

"Nobody wanted me," said Leonard Mead with a smile.

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to!”

Leonard Mead waited in the cold night.

"Just walking, Mr. Mead?"

"Yes."
     

"But you haven't explained for what purpose."

"I explained; for air, and to see, and just to walk."

"Have you done this often?"

"Every night for years."
     

The police car sat in the center of the street with its radio throat faintly humming.

"Well, Mr. Mead," it said.

"Is that all?" he asked politely.

"Yes," said the voice. "Here." There was a sigh, a pop. The back door of the police car sprang wide. "Get in."

"Wait a minute, I haven't done anything!"

"Get in."

"I protest!"

"Mr. Mead."
     

He walked like a man suddenly drunk. As he passed the front window of the car he looked in. As he had expected, there was no one in the front seat, no one in the car at all.

"Get in."

He put his hand to the door and peered into the back seat, which was a little cell, a little black jail with bars. It smelled of riveted steel. It smelled of harsh antiseptic; it smelled too clean and hard and metallic. There was nothing soft there.

"Now if you had a wife to give you an alibi," said the iron voice. "But-"

"Where are you taking me?"

The car hesitated, or rather gave a faint whirring click, as if information, somewhere, was dropping card by punch-slotted card under electric eyes. "To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies."

He got in. The door shut with a soft thud. The police car rolled through the night avenues, flashing its dim lights ahead.

They passed one house on one street a moment later, one house in an entire city of houses that were dark, but this one particular house had all of its electric lights brightly lit, every window a loud yellow illumination, square and warm in the cool darkness.

"That's my house," said Leonard Mead.

No one answered him.

The car moved down the empty river-bed streets and off away, leaving the empty streets with the empty side-walks, and no sound and no motion all the rest of the chill November night.

Structure

For purposes of studying the short story, we are going to split it into four sections as follows:

Exposition

Beginning up to “...in the early November evening.” (p2).

Complication

“On this particular evening...” (p2) up to “...all stone and bed and moon radiance.” (p3).

Climax

“He turned back on a side street...” (p3) up to “Mr Mead.” (p4).

Resolution (Closed or Open?)

“He walked like a man suddenly drunk...” (p4) to end.

One fat man walks ... and America makes him a counterculture hero

It started as a coast-to-coast weight-loss exercise. Now Steve Vaught's website has 700,000 hits and he's going on Oprah

Paul Harris in Vandalia, Ohio for The Observer

|1 |The white car halted on the outskirts of town and a pretty woman rolled down the window at the sight of a fat man trudging by |

| |with a rucksack on his back. 'Are you Steve?' asked Kim Saylor, 26. 'I am such a big fan.' For Steve Vaught, being stopped in|

| |the street is now a daily occurrence. He is an unlikely celebrity: a morbidly obese man who has captured the heart of America |

| |by walking alone across the country on a quest to lose weight and find his soul. |

| | |

| |Like a real-life Forrest Gump, Vaught's journey from coast to coast is touching the lives of millions. Last month his website |

| |had more than 700,000 hits. Fans travel thousands of miles to walk with him for a little way. He has appeared on TV's Today |

|2 |show and in countless local newspapers. He has a book deal with HarperCollins and a documentary crew is chronicling his walk. |

| |Later this month he will receive the ultimate accolade of American fame: an appearance on Oprah. |

| | |

| |For Vaught, 40, who weighed more than 28 stone when he left California almost a year ago, it has all come as a shock. 'People |

| |seem to think I am some kind of American hero, but I am just a guy.' His walk has touched a nerve in an America struggling |

| |with an obesity epidemic and a car-celebrating culture. What started as one man's weight loss has become much more: a symbolic|

| |quest for a better way of living. Part of it is Vaught's Buddhist-style attitude. His website is full of reflective musings |

|3 |that inspire not only people trying to lose weight but all those seeking to change their life. 'Now I realise this is an |

| |emotional journey, not a physical one,' he said. |

| | |

| |Vaught, hailed as a counterculture icon, has been flooded with commercial offers. One company wanted him to market a |

| |weight-loss pill in a deal that could have netted him $5m. He turned it down. Such pills, Vaught believes, are part of a |

| |quick-fix modern culture he now despises. 'It's all about "give me a pill", "give me surgery", do anything but face reality,' |

| |Vaught said. |

| | |

| |Vaught has now lost about 114lb. That still makes him a fat man, but it is not something he cares about: 'One hundred and |

|4 |fourteen pounds is a whole girlfriend!' he joked. 'It took me 20 years to get into this situation. It is going to take some |

| |time to get out.' Vaught believes his victory has been over his mindset, not his body shape. After years, he has come off |

| |anti-depressants and is happy again. |

| | |

| |Vaught's trip has revealed to him the extent of America's subservience to cars and fast food. Walking in America is not easy: |

| |there are few pavements. Nor is healthy eating. On the first 19 miles of his walk Vaught passed 24 fast-food restaurants and |

|5 |one grocery shop. 'What are they trying to tell us?' he said. 'America should be the best place in the world to eat food. |

| |Instead it is the worst.' |

| | |

| |The list of people he has met makes up a tableau of American life. There was a Navajo woman who waited six days to meet him |

| |and ask advice for her own obese mother; another woman who gave him water in the desert; a beautiful waitress in Oklahoma, |

| |struggling to bring up three children in a town ravaged by drugs; and a young Goth girl in small-town Illinois, struggling to |

|6 |leave. |

| | |

| |Vaught rejoices in his experiences in the obscure byways of this enormous country. 'This is the real America with its quirks |

| |and eccentricities. For all the shortcomings, it is a beautiful place.' As Vaught trudged towards the next town, the highway |

| |was so busy with traffic that walking was dangerous and talking difficult. But behind the deafening noise, was the sound of |

| |birds singing. |

|7 | |

| | |

| | |

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|8 | |

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| | |

QUESTIONS ON THE PASSAGE

1) Look at paragraph 1. Why did the man walk across America? (Quote from the passage).

2) Look at paragraph 3. What 2 reasons are given for him being considered a “kind of American hero”? (Quote from the passage).

3) Look at paragraph 3. IN YOUR OWN WORDS explain why he now considers his journey to be an “emotional journey not a physical one.” (Give any one reason).

4) Look at paragraph 4. IN YOUR OWN WORDS explain why he turned down a $5m commercial deal.

5) Look at paragraph 6. What words tell us WHY there are few pavements and so many fast food restaurants in America? (Quote from the passage).

6) Look at paragraph 7. What does the word “tableau” mean?

7) Look at the final paragraph. Why do you think the author concludes the passage in the way he does?

Setting

In the Exposition, the writer is setting the scene for the rest of the short story.

Complete the following grid, which has been started for you, by either giving a statement as to what the quotations tell you about the city/society in which Leonard Mead lives, or by finding an appropriate quotation from the Exposition to support the statement already given. Then fill in the final column by picking out words from the quotation which are particularly effective.

|Quotation |What this tells us about Leonard Mead’s city/society...|Which words from the quotation are particularly |

| | |effective? |

| | | |

|“...that silence that was the city at eight o’ | | |

|clock of a misty evening...” | | |

| | | |

| | | |

| | | |

| | | |

| | | |

| |The pavements are overgrown and neglected through lack | |

| |of use. | |

| | | |

| | | |

| | | |

| | | |

|“He was alone in this world of A.D. 2053, or as |The story is set in the future. Mead is a solitary |The words “or as good as alone” indicate that although |

|good as alone...” |character, who, while not physically alone feels |there are other citizens, Mead does not identify with |

| |isolated. |them. |

|“...it was not unequal to walking through a | | |

|graveyard where only the faintest glimmers of | | |

|firefly light appeared in flickers behind the | | |

|windows.” | | |

| | | |

| |The authorities consider it undesirable for people to | |

| |walk the streets of the city at night. | |

| | | |

| | | |

|“lights might click on and faces appear and an | | |

|entire street be startled by the passing of a lone| | |

|figure...” | | |

| | | |

| | | |

| | | |

Character

Leonard Mead is an individual whose behaviour differs from that of the other citizens in the story. Look at the following grid in your groups and

You will then exchange the knowledge you have discovered with your neighbouring group.

| |What Leonard Mead says/does |What this tells us about him |Evidence from the text |

|1 |He likes to go out walking on his own through the | | |

| |silent city. | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

|2 | |He does not want to be disturbed while he is out | |

| | |walking. | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

|3 | |He loves nature. | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

|4 | | |“Time for a dozen assorted murders? A quiz? A revue? |

| | | |A comedian falling off the stage?” |

| | | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

|5 |He is a writer, although he hasn’t written in years. | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

| | | | |

|6 |He does not attempt to run from the police or confront| |“ ‘Is that all?’ he asked politely. ‘Yes’ said the |

| |them, instead he stands and obediently, politely | |voice. ‘Here… …Get in.’ ‘Wait a minute, I haven’t |

| |answers their questions. | |done anything!” |

| | | | |

| | | | |

|7 |Although he is aware of the “dog squads” and expects | |“He walked like a man suddenly drunk. As he passed |

| |no one to be in the police car, he is still shocked at| |the front window of the car he looked in. As he had |

| |his treatment by the authorities. | |expected… …there was no one in the car at all.” |

| | | | |

| | | | |

Themes

What do you think the central idea/theme of the story is?

Nature vs. Technology? Death of individuality? Loss of personal freedom?

Exercise (Group Activity)

Pick out words/images used to describe nature/humanity (as represented by Mead), and words/images used to describe technology/the city.

Why are these words effective in the story? Fill in 2 separate grids – cooperative learning?

Whole Group Discussion?

Why do you think the author has written this short story?

As a warning to current day society about the possible direction it is heading in?

Setting

Light and darkness, cold – word choice in groups?

Use of Senses – (Imagery? E.g. Different kinds of light – Leonard Mead and Police car light). Mead’s house lights. Dim light in other houses. Lights coming on. Atmosphere this creates? Dark, misty, cold, unforgiving.

Plot

What happens next?

WRITING TASK

Write Leonard Mead's obituary.  Use some of the words from the word bank below.

|writer   regressive tendencies   active   imaginative    nature    famous  unknown   walking    fiction    viewing |

|screen    abnormal    air conditioner   fresh air     brightly lit     (un)successful    (un)usual    unmarried    |

|stubborn    outsider   influence    career    life     death   masterpiece    famous    normal    out of step    |

|inspiration     obscure    strange   sensitive   talented        |

WRITING TASK

Write a holiday advertisement about the town in which Leonard Mead lives. Use some of the words from the word bank below.

|progress    modern    control    attractive   book    cars   crime     safe    superb    entertaining    cheap    |

|magazine    variety    freedom      automatic    sensational    quiet      family life   comfortable     television    |

|harmo­nious   viewing screen    impressive    facilities    peaceful    air conditioned   violence    beauty   |

|channels    highways    attractions    interesting    relaxed    police car    content    impressive    famous    TV |

|programme    wonderful     restful    accommodation    |

WRITING TASK

Five years later at the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies Leonard Mead is asked to write down his present views on his society.  Having read Leonard Mead's report the psychiatrist decides not to release him. Write Leonard Mead's report. Use some of the words from the word bank below.

|conformity    books    progress    control    insanity    air pollution   nature       surveillance    crime    city    |

|measures    safe    totalitarian    limited    freedom    dictatorship    television    magazine    lazy creativity    |

|viewing screen    air pollution     beauty      loss    cars    individuality    frightening    transport policy    |

|feelings    outsiders    prison     passive   psychiatric centre    highways   sidewalk desert    tomb-like   death   |

|darkness    different    imagination    silence   technology   family life    dangerous     destruction |

"People ask where do you get your ideas. Well, right here. All this is my Martian landscape. Somewhere in this room is an African veldt. Just beyond perhaps is a small Illinois town where I grew up. And I'm surrounded on every side by my magician’s toyshop. I'll never starve here. I just look around, find what I need, and begin. I'm Ray Bradbury, and this is ‘The Ray Bradbury Theatre’. Well then, right now what shall it be? Out of all this what do I choose to make a story? I never know where the next one will take me. The trip exactly one half exhilaration, exactly one half terror. Tennis shoes, to remind me of what? The first nights of summer when, as a boy, I ran in the cool grass, or later, walking at night, being stopped by police who were suspicious of the only one walking for miles and miles. Upset with this encounter with the law what else could I do but write about shoes, and night, and walking as a criminal in some future year in a story called The Pedestrian?”

[Introduction to The Ray Bradbury Theatre adaptation of The Pedestrian, USA, 2nd Production, 04/08/89.]

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