Photo of the Day: The Happiest Roman of Them All

Years ago, cigar-store Indians were ubiquitous outside tobacconist shops. But I can’t remember the last time I saw one of these solemn, silent wooden sculptures. You can probably guess why from the 1993 Seinfeld episode called—surprise, surprise!—“The Cigar Store Indian,” in which Jerry is chided as a racist by a Native-American woman who's caught his eye, when he buys such a figure as a peace offering for Elaine.

Political correctness can scare off attempts to enlist representatives of racial or ethnic groups for business purposes. In Wednesday’s New York Daily News, for instance, John Mariani took to task Presidential candidate Herman Cain for his past association with Godfather Pizza, which, the writer observes, perpetuated stereotypes about Italian-Americans and the Mafia.

But, if you have to tread carefully about a symbol involving today’s Italians or Italian-Americans, yesterday’s—well, okay, ancient—ones present no such problems. A couple of weeks ago, on West 49th Street in midtown Manhattan, I came across a nice counterpart to the cigar-store Indian: an ancient Roman standing guard outside the restaurant Da Marino.

I have no idea what this eatery’s food is like, but this fine fellow caught my eye and made my chuckle. To start, there's the cut of his jaw, the most prominent chin this side of Jay Leno.

More than that, there’s a real difference between him and others of his ilk from the age when all roads led to Rome. It wasn’t easy carrying out the whim of power-mad emperors, lording it over oppressed alien groups or protecting a corrupt people from the horrible fate at the hands of barbarians that they so richly deserved.

If you want proof of what I’m talking about, just look at John Wayne’s cameo as the centurion in George Stevens’ reverent Greatest Story Ever Told. Now, if I were making boodles of money in a two-minutes-tops appearance, I’d try to sport a more serene mien. But The Duke looks like he’s really getting into method acting here, rather dissatisfied with his lot, until he makes a hash of his climatic moment. (“Surely this man was the son of God.”)

And what about those two soldier-friends in the late HBO series Rome? Titus Pollo and Lucius Vorinus certainly don’t appear to be pleased with their lives, what with all their discontent about loved ones and the responsibility of saving the republic from itself.

So this soldier outside Da Marino was a revelation. He’s smiling so much, you’d think he’d just been named to command a legion.

On the other hand, since he’s standing outside the restaurant, there could be an alternative explanation. He could be delighted in the meal he’s just had. When you think of it, what could fortify a soldier like this--what could inspire him to take up his manifold, lonely duties--if not the very real prospect of an excellent dinner?

What better advertising for a ristorante?