John Graziano's Candlelight Vigil

Well, I really thought I might be able to only blog every other day, but it seems there's always something that I feel I need to say, so this may be a failed experiment at it's birth.

Yesterday evening I attended the candlelight vigil of John Graziano. Graziano is the young man who was the passenger Hulk Hogan's son's car. You've probably heard of that terrible car crash in Clearwater, which resulted in Graziano's current state.

John Graziano is in critical condition, and there appears to be brain damage (although they're not saying the extent of it). Last night, I heard a self-styled "missionary" (who has been with the Graziano family for the last 72 hours) whisper that Graziano is currently completely and absolutely unresponsive.

It is obvious to most people that Hulk Hogan's son is going to turn out to be the "bad guy" in all this mess, and well he should be. After all, he has received numerous tickets for speeding, is into "drifting" and has been seen to try to antagonize other drivers on the street, attempting to get them to race him. Obviously he's a dangerous speed junkie and deserves to have the book thrown at him.

But he's not the only speed junkie. John Graziano has been reported to love the adrenaline rush. Friends recount that he would do anything for it: Skydiving, jet skiing, he lived for the thrill of the thrill.

So at the candlelight vigil last night, emotions were mixed and his family was defensive. Repeatedly, family members and friends spoke defiantly, demanding that others pray for and care about Graziano without taking into account any personal defects. They talked about his service as a Marine in combat, and his heroism overseas. They said he is more than "just a friend of so-and-so" and I can agree with all of that. But knowing Graziano's history, it seems more than possible that he knew what he was getting into. And whether it was for the rush or because he was basking in the glory of being part of the entourage, he went willingly.

During the vigil, there were wretched moments. It was stomach-turning to see some of the photographers get within inches of a knot of sobbing people, so that they could get the best shot of a tear-streaked face.

The man who pulled the vigil together (the self-styled "missionary" I'd mentioned before) was most obviously doing it for the press. He puffed himself out, spoke in stentorian tones, and did his best to show his plumage. This was his chance at fame, and he wasn't going to give away a moment of his 15 minutes. He brought along with him a guy who played keyboards, and a pretty blond singer who couldn't carry a tune and was obviously more concerned about where to set up and how to perform.

When someone from the press actually cared enough to ask him for his personal information, the "missionary" was happy to give his full title and claimed credentials, finally admitting that he was presently a missionary without a country to go to. He quickly added that he prays constantly, however: Apparently that's the current mission. Good thing the Grazianos came along with a personal tragedy he could attach himself to.

It was a sloppy mess of a vigil, with constant distractions. First the rains and lightning came, and everyone was forced to find shelter under a smallish, tin-roofed area. The sound system was quickly re-arranged and the entertainment commenced. It was appallingly false, and those people who had come willingly to genuinely pray for Graziano seemed baffled at the show-and-tell. A supposedly simple prayer vigil had moments of prayer interspersed with vast amounts of showboating and the whir and click of cameras.

Growing sick of it all, many made their escape before the candles were even lit. And as I left, I had the eerie impression that the focus had never once really been on the man we were praying for.