by John Willson
Prejudice, n. A vagrant opinion without visible means of support.
--Ambrose Bierce
A farmer who dwelt in my home town was once arrested on the streets of Rochester, New York, while looking up at a large building which he owned. He was wearing, at the time, knee-high boots with unmistakable traces of the barnyard on them, dirty Oshkosh-by-Goshes over a tattered flannel shirt, and an old railroad engineer’s cap. The charge was vagrancy. His son favored similar clothing. I helped to paint the old farmhouse when I was seventeen or eighteen, and I remember how shocked I was when Dad told me that old Everett could buy the whole town of Phelps with his pocket change. Their name was Mott, and various members of the extended family owned some grape juice, some automobile factories, natural gas, real estate in most major cities, and who knows what all.
One could say that this branch of the Motts, father and son, were “vagrant men with no visible means of support.” And easy, therefore, for a Rochester cop to look upon with a certain amount of “prejudice” as the old man stood on the street spitting tobacco with his thumbs linked through the bib overalls. They both, father and son, were graduates of New England prep schools and Williams College.
Prejudice is not to be mistaken for its verb cousin, “discriminate,” which the redoubtable Bierce defines as “To note the particulars in which one person or thing is, if possible, more objectionable than another.” Prejudice is apparently a rather unobjectionable fellow, compared with the one who discriminates, especially if he also is the black sheep of the family, “Bigot,” who is “obstinately and zealously attached to an opinion that you do not entertain.”