A few days ago I was rummaging around in the boxes of stuff left over from my college days in an attempt to determine what was worth keeping and what was just taking up space. In a pile of old papers I ran across an essay that one of my instructors had given to me. She had given it to me as I left the school and always said that I was perhaps the most eccentric student she had ever known. The corners are bent and torn and there's a large coffee stain in the middle of it, but it still holds fond memories. I thought I'd include it here for all to see.

Of Weirdos and Eccentrics

      Charles Waterton was just another typical eccentric. In his 80's the eminent country squire was to be seen clambering around the upper branches of an oak tree with what was aptly described as the agility of an "adolescent gorilla". The beloved 27th lord of Walton Hall also devoted his distinguished old age to scratching the back part of his head with his right big toe. Such displays of high animal spirits were not; however, confined to the gentleman's later years. When young, Waterton made four separate trips to South America, where he sought the wourali poison (a cure, he was convinced, for hydrophobia), and once spent months on end with one foot dangling from his hammock in the quixotic hope of having his toe sucked by a vampire bat.

      James Warren Jones, by contrast, was something of a weirdo. As a boy in the casket-making town of Lynn, Ind., he used to conduct elaborate funeral services for dead pets. Later as a struggling preacher, he went from door to door, in bow tie and tweed jacket, selling imported monkeys. After briefly fleeing to South America (a shelter, he believed, from an imminent nuclear holocaust), the man who reguarded himself as a reincarnation of Lennin settled in Northern California and opened some convalescent homes. Then, one humid day in the jungles of Guyana, he ordered his followers to drink a Kool-Aid-like punch soured with cyanide. By the time the world arrived at Jonestown, 911 people were dead.

      The difference between the weirdo and the eccentric is, in this way, the difference between a man with a teddy bear in his hand and a man with a gun. We are also, of course, besieged by other kinds of deviants-crackpots, oddballs, fanatics, quacks and cranks. But the weirdo and the eccentric define between them that invisible line at which strangeness acquires an edge and oddness becomes menace.

      The difference between the two two starts with the words themselves - eccentric, after all, carries a distinguished Latin pedigree that refers, quite reasonably, to anything that departs from the center; weirdo, by comparison, has its mongrel origins in the Old English word wyrd, meaning fate or destiny; and the larger, darker forces conjured up by the term - Macbeth's weird sisters and the like - are given an extra twist with the slangy, bastard suffix -o. Beneath the linguistic roots; however, we feel the difference in our pulses. The eccentric we generally reguard as something of a donny, dotty, harmless type, like the British peer who threw over his Cambridge fellowship in order to live in a bath. The weirdo is an altogether more shadowy figure - Charles Manson acting out his messianic visions. The eccentric is a distinctive presence; the weirdo something of an absence, who casts no reflection in society's mirror. The eccentric raises a smile: the weirdo leaves a chill.

      All to often though, the two terms are not so easily distinguished. Many a criminal trial, after all,, revolves around that grey area where the two begin to blur. Was Bernhard Goetz just a volatile Everyman, ourselves pushed to the limit, and then beyond? Or was he in fact an aberration? Often, besides, eccentrics may simply be weirdos in possession of a VIP pass, people rich enough or powerful enough to live above convention, amoral as Greek gods. Elvis Presley could afford to pump bullets into silhouettes of humans and never count the cost. Lesser mortals, however, must find another kind of victim.

      To some extent too, we tend to think of eccentricity as the perogative, even the hallmark of genius. And genius is its own vindication. Who cared that Glen Gould sang along with the piano while playing Bach, so long as he played so beautifully? Even the Herculean debauches of Babe Ruth did not undermine so much as confirm his status as legend.

      Indeed, the unorthodox inflections of the exceptional can lead to all kinds of dangerous assumptions. If geniuses are out of the ordinary and psychopaths are out of the ordinary, then geniuses are psychopaths and vice versa, or so at least runs the reasoning of many dramatists who set their plays in looney bins. If the successful are strange, then being strange is a way of becoming successful, or so believe all those would-be artists who work on eccentric proses. And if celebrity is its own defense, then many a denagogue or criminal assures himself that he will ultimately be redeemed by the celebrity he covets.

      All these distortions, however, ignore the most fundamental distinction of all: the eccentric is strange because he cares too little about society, the weirdo because he cares too much. The eccentric generally wants nothing more than his own attic-like space in which he can live by his own peculiar lights. The weirdo, however, resents his outcast status and constantly seeks to get back into society, or at least get back at it. His is the rage not of the bachelor but the divorce.

      Thus the eccentric hardly cares if he is seen to be strange; that in a sense is what makes him strange. The weirdo, however, wants desperately to be taken as normal and struggles to keep his strangeness to himself. "He was always such a nice man.", the neighbors ritually tell reporters after a sniper's rampage. "He always seemed so normal."

      And because the two mark such different tangents to the norm, their incidence can, in this way, be an index of a society's health. The height of British eccentricity, for example, coincided with the height of British power, if only, perhaps, because Britain in its imperial heyday presented so strong a center from which to depart. Nowadays, with the empire gone and the center vanishing, Britain is more often associated with the maladjusted weirdo - the orange-haired misfit or the soccer hooligan.

      At the other extreme, the relentless and ritualized normalicy of a society like Japan's - can, to western eyes, itself seem almost abnormal. Too few eccentrics can be as dangerous as too many weirdos. For in the end eccentricity is a mark of confidence, accommodated best by a confident society, whereas weirdness inspires fear because it is a symptom of fear and uncertainty and rage. A society needs the eccentric as much as it needs a decorated frame for the portrait it fashions of itself; it needs the weirdo as much as it needs a hole punched through the middle of the canvas.

Author Unknown.