Lantern Column 2/24/10

This piece was published in the Ohio State University Lantern Wednesday February 24 2010.
This will sound like an over-caffeinated swipe at the tea-bagger types from a guy who should know better how far such things go, but bear with me.  As I write this, Vancouverites are waving the five-ringed flags of the 2009 Winter Olympics, with all the fanfare involved, and good for them.  There’s nothing like watching athletes strive for the Olympic ideal of Citius, Altius, Fortius--Swifter, Higher, Stronger, as those ideals relate to sporting endeavors.  Curling, for example, a cross between ice-skating, and housecleaning.  What a thrill!  The challenge of the super G, the grace of paired figure skating, and the raw athleticism of cross-country anything is enough to make us proud, Canadian or not.  It’s all very inspiring, hey?
    I believe we should add a fourth Latinate attachment to the ideals-Acutulior, Smarter, modern equivalent games for intellectual pursuits.  Call them the Thinkolympics.  These ‘mind games’ would be a forum where mentaletes from all five continents compete for medals in such individual and team sports as hunger-elimination plans, nuclear deterrence, clean water initiatives or micro-finance ideas.  Mentaletes could win their gold, silver and bronze based on their knowledge of current events, world history, world religions, economic factors that affect us all. They could win medals, careers, even endorsements from entrepreneurial governments, or private citizens. 
       Sadly, as I write this, 36% of Americans believe our government was involved in the attacks of September 11th 2001; 33% do not believe in global climate change❊, many believe a recent urban myth that a directory of cell phone numbers will soon be published!  The Cellow-Pages?  Puh-lllease!  I recently heard this actual conversation about the health care debate, from an actual living person, quote: “Of course Congress should pay for it, otherwise the taxpayers will have to!”  You can’t make this stuff up.  Here’s another one: “If English was good enough for Jesus Christ, it’s good enough for us.”  Everybody knows he spoke Christian!
    The point, of course, is that we need to accentuate intellectual pursuit more than we do.  I’m no Pollyandy, but when we devote more money to a three week Olympic spectacle than we allocate for the entire year of the U.S. Department of Education, there are at least opportunities for questions.  It cost the Chinese $58.7 Billion dollars to host the Beijing games in 2008; the 2011 budget for U.S. education is $50.3 Billion and change.  
    When I was a kid, this nation was shocked into action when our Russian friends managed to put Sputnik in orbit.  It was a little fifty pound orb, not much bigger than a basketball.  But the satellite’s presence above our heads in October 1957 was scarier than any Halloween prank.  I can still hear it’s ominous beep-beep-beep on the evening newscast.  Sputnik’s launch was a podium event for Russia, a gold medal in the international pursuit of scientific one-upmanship, the Thinkolympics of the fifties.  That little silver ball beeping away jolted the U.S. into a race with the Soviets that was more intellectual than physical.  We have issues today that are much more urgent than a little silver ball.  And we need an olympic effort to address them. 


❊The Atlantic--January/February 2010

Favorite Poem

...and a small cabin build there,

Lake Isle of Innisfree, by William Butler Yeats was my father's favorite poem.  Dad died three years ago, but he left behind a wonderful legacy of appreciation for nature, the quiet of a rustic setting, and a tiny cabin in the woods, much like the one above.  And he loved the Yeats poem, so I'm posting it here in its entirety, because, well, I love it, too.

Enjoy--

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, 

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine-bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, 

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, 

Dropping from the veils of the morning, to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all aglimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the Linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day,

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand by the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart's core.

Connections

Connections

One big advantage of doing anything new, frightening, exotic or hard is the possibility that whatever it is, it will lead to unexpected, and often wonderful, new connections.  My opportunity to write for the student paper, The Lantern, is one such opportunity.  I've been published in the paper every week for the quarter, and the exposure has led to some interesting, and truly unexpected opportunities.  One of those is just the chance to add to my writing resume', of course.  Another is to pursue a kind of writing I never thought I'd be doing, and that part is truly scary.  There's no telling yet what the result will be, but it could be a defining moment in my writing path, one way or the other.  Stay tuned; the topic can't be revealed at this point, but the connections are profound.

Spring?

 

"Spring"

Can you feel it in the air?  Aren't the days longer now?  Isn't the sun warmer at noontime?  Or am I imagining  that Spring is just around the corner? 

Winter's Pace

 

Winter 2010

Winter has a way of setting our pace for us.  This is a good thing; if everything else slows down in winter-beasts and trees and processes-then why not us?  Snowstorms like the one of recent days are nature's way of telling us to slow down, take a (wintry) breath, take a minute to consider.  And perhaps they're a way of forcing us to get closer to someone for warmth and companionship?  Is there anything better than a walk in a silent, snow-covered wood with the one person you know will keep you warm and safe no matter what?  Doubtful.  It's certainly worth the slowing down, no question.     

OMOC the book Intro

OMOC
Old Man On Campus

Introduction

(This is the introduction to my memoir, Old Man On Campus.  The book is being written as I progress toward my degree in English at Ohio State, and should be available by early 2012, hopefully prior to the end times, which could limit sales.  Thanks for reading, and keep checking for additional chapters.)

I’m back in school in my golden years.  At this writing, I’m 61 years old, sharing a classroom with a passel of twenty year old frat boys and coeds.  I’m, like, finishing my college degree, after like 38 years of like one thing and another: the draft, the Army, the war, the 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, the wife and kid-mortgage-career-divorce-remarriage-retirement.  That kind of thing.  The minor details that like one gets mixed up in when life like happens.  Okay, enough of the like.  It’s almost contagious.  
    Why in God’s name would I put myself through this late-in-life, daily hassle of 7:30 a.m. English 201, trudging across a frozen campus before the sun is up, dreading midterms and finals, putting myself out there to be judged, and possibly humiliated, by a bunch of young punks?  And that’s just the teachers.  Good question.  You’ll have to read the book to find out.  But admit it; you’ve always yearned to go back to school, cram as much information as you can into the old squash, check in your dotage to see if the damned thing even works anymore (the brain, that is, forget the other bodily appendages and accessories, which are dropping off line with alarming regularity, and by the way thank God for Viagra).  Admit it; you, too, got interrupted somewhere along the line by something that cancelled a plan, something like marriage, kids, mortgage payments, career demands, military service etc.  One of the most frustrating things in modern life is the maddening interruptions we have to put up with.  We never get to finish anything more consequential than lunch, and even then...  It’s bad enough when the dog needs to take a dump halfway through our New York Times crossword of a Sunday morning.  Getting yanked out of college, more like kidnapped, and shipped off to Vietnam, then jerked back to real life and the slog for a job, and bills, and what our parents used to refer to as responsibilities?  That’s life-interruptus.  And it happens to everyone.   
    Do I need a college degree?  Absolutely not.  I got along fine without the old sheepskin for all my years of pursuing a career, paying the bills, moving up the ladder, even putting aside a little nest egg, which takes some doing these days.  College degree?  Just another life fantasy that was put aside about ‘69, along with my bell-bottoms, ERA NOW! bumper sticker and Joan Baez eight tracks.  Did I have a blank spot on my wall that needed something suitable for framing?  Nope.  Did I have GI bill money sitting idle?  Huh-uh.  Was I bored, curious, crazy?  None of the above.  No.  So why go back? 
    Here’s a little taste of it: The first day of classes, I parked the car in the lot--next to the motorcycles and the battered Honda Civic with no hubcaps, and slung my (brand new) backpack across my shoulder.  When I stepped onto the oval that bracing Fall morning, thirty-eight years fell away.  I stopped in the middle of the campus, like a doddering old fool, staring at the surroundings: The main library towered above the oval, like the monolith in 2001 A Space Odyssey; the old brick and stone admin building stood right where it was when the students took it over in ’68; the old bell tower with its legendary chimes greeted me with a peal of welcome, and the aroma of autumn leaves kicked up by the breeze smelled like an old history book.  It was as if I’d taken a sabbatical, finished a long work study, and was once again immersed in the academic environment I’d left behind when my draft notice arrived in the mail in 1969.  Rip Van Winkle meets English 201.  
    So it’s unfinished business, yes, but it’s much more than that.  Baby boomer that I am, I’m guilty of the charge of refusing to grow up.  But, to my knowledge, no one has researched the phenomenon to discover why we’re like that.  Here’s part of the answer: We Boomers were interrupted in the middle of some pretty important business partway through our development.  Not to get all airy-fairy, or pop-psycho, but the issues of my adolescence got a lot more attention than a silly college degree.  There was Vietnam, the women’s movement, seismic changes in male-female roles, The Bomb, Nixon/Agnew, and the subtle pressure we felt to live up to the Greatest Generation (thanks a lot Brokaw).  No wonder I refuse, at 61, to grow up completely; some of my college years were left in shreds on that campus, and I want them back, dammit!  I’m trying to gather them up, put them back together, and see what the results may have been. 
    I’m not back in college to ogle the girls.  That preoccupation was something that caused my grade card to be spattered with red ink back in my hormonal twenties, which lustful endeavor led to my sagging grades, then Selective Service re-classification to 1-A, which led to my draft notice, yadda, yadda, yadda.  Back in ‘69, as I made my way across the oval, like every other male of the straight persuasion, I mentally denuded each of those luscious, nubile young ladies, fantasizing about every lascivious sexual act ever invented by man and/or beast with them, one after another.  It’s a wonder I didn’t hurt myself.  If we men are hard wired to repopulate the earth single-handed, I wanted to get started right then, on the oval, sweetie, this will just take a minute but the backpack has to go.  Now I look at those young women, with their fresh scrubbed faces, shared laughter like a gaggle of new chicks, their sweet smiles like peach yogurt, and what I want to do is gather them up, give them all a hug and tell them there, there, it’s going to be alright, that Comp Lit isn’t that hard, and he’ll call you ‘cause you’re so precious cute, and he’s a fool if he doesn’t, don’t worry.  Whole other perspective.   
    Part of it is simply this: I’m having the time of my life.  I have the opportunity; I have the money; I have support from my sweet wife; and I have the inclination.  Plus--and this makes me smile inside and out--it’s on Uncle Sam’s nickel.  My tuition is taken care of by way of my military retirement check, which arrives every month like clockwork, much like my draft notice did, come to think of it. 
    So in July of 2009, I dropped into the admissions office, yelled “I’m back”, and they not only took me in with open arms, they helped me sign up for classes.  After the laughter died down, that is.  My plan is to get my diploma, and start social security the same day.  Here’s how.             

Winter Walk

There's something about bundling up on a winter's morning, and braving the wild, windy woods that takes us back to a part of our childhood, or at least a simpler time.  Having to face the elements, trudging off into a threatening, unforgiving environment is something two people can do together to share their commitment to each other, and demonstrate the depth of their bond.  It's like heading into the unknown and hostile in many other parts of life, only more elemental and harsh.  It's also more basic, and easier to understand the nature of the threat.  It's easier still to see how well a relationship shields us from the cold and wind when we return to hot chocolate and a crackling fire.  Life doesn't get any better, and it's the contrast between cold and warmth that brings that out.

books, books, books

Stacks

Thompson Library OSU Main

 

The picture was taken from the stairwell adjacent to the main stacks in Thompson Libarary at OSU.  This is a small slice of the real collection, a minor parcel of the astounding resource available here.  This is just a glimpse of over one million books in this library, a resource unimaginable less than 100 years ago, and one we take for granted today.  We are a rich nation, a land where we're able to take things like this for granted.  But we shouldn't; we ought to celebrate this incredible asset for what it is, a window into a myriad of strange, different, challenging, exotic, inspiring, stimulating, irritating, and yes, aggravating stories beyond the narrow confines of our own.  And here's the rest of the story: for every book you see here, there are a thousand thousand more, and more arriving all the time.  So go read something!