In Praise of Slow

I went for a morning walk.  Morning walks for us are more unusual than they should be.  But we usually end up meeting demands of the day and those impede what we ought to be doing for our health. Even retired people feel like we have demands that often crowd out morning walks.

I was by myself because Judy had business from the previous evening’s Rotary meeting to handle, and the humidity was well past her tolerance.  I was dripping wet when I got back from a mere 1.5 mile walk so her decision to forego the walk was validated.

We drive the stretch of Makakilo Drive where I walk frequently. Driving, we miss things. We miss saying hello to other walkers, of which there were two main types that morning: people my age and older and moms pushing strollers. One of the moms was a former IPA teacher.  Another stroller-pusher was a tutu wahine, a grandmother with whom I shared a one-sentence exchange beyond hello.

That day, I saw a dove limping across the sidewalk and expressed my sympathy for its hurt paw. I saw myna birds atop every one of the light poles, not quite as grand as the red-tailed hawks in California who behave the same way but obviously clued into the advantages of a high perch.

I passed a Filipino woman sweeping leaves from the dirt patch that was her parking strip with a homemade broom and a muscular Hawaiian man putting brake fluid—or maybe it was transmission—into the engine compartment of his muscle truck. In sort, because I was walking, I saw bits of everyday life on Makakilo Drive that I do not see at 40 mph.

In the August 2019 Atlantic, Jonathan Rauch has a piece called “Wait a Minute.” His lede is the graphic video streaming the Christchurch, New Zealand murders and how, despite quick action by the CEO of You Tube to take down the video, millions still saw the carnage as it was accumulating.

Rauch posits that, had there not been the modern-day craving for instantaneous communication, the public good of blocking any showing of the video could have been achieved. His article describes similar situations where the virtue of delay, the rejection of “instantaneous-ism” ought to be considered.

Rauch writes “…as everyone’s mom used to put it, ‘when you’re mad, count to ten before you answer’” as he describes the two cognitive systems identified by psychologist Daniel Kahneman in his book, Thinking, Fast and Slow. System 1 is “intuitive, automatic, and impulsive.” System 2 is slower, “gathers facts, consults evidence….” Those moms were banking on a ten count getting us from System 1 to System 2.

Rauch notes that Kahneman said we need both systems. There is nothing inherently wrong about intuition, automaticity or impulse. On that morning walk, I was in the crosswalk as a truck, traveling the speed limit, rounded the curve, seeing me only nanoseconds before his truck and I would be trying to occupy the same space. I did not have to think about moving quickly.

I also have a vivid memory of a day 35 years ago when, in the heat of a baseball game in which I was coaching, I yelled something at the umpire that, to my chagrin, could have been heard a mile away.  Instantly, I wanted to grab back all those words, like erasing a cartoon bubble filled with ungentlemanly words. I had failed to count to ten.

People of a Certain Age, one of the blessings of retirement, if we choose to use it, is the time to be more reflective about what we do and say. There is time available to walk the Drive, not just drive the walk.

Another friend wrote recently while on his vacation.  He said that email followed him whether he was at work or not.

When our primary way to message each other was with pen and paper, time got used up. It took some time to write, more time to post the letter and time in transit to the destination where the letter might actually sit unopened until the vacation was over.  Now we have Smartphones.

These mean that the message is delivered as soon as it is sent. Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat, What’s App; these are merely variations on the phenomenon of making one person’s thoughts instantaneously available to another.

Rauch observes that history books are replete with stories about letters written in anger and then not sent. The writer had counted to ten. What if we all counted to ten before hitting “send?”

I pointed out to my friend that phones and computers are still under our control in a very important sense. Neither works unless we turn them on.

It is not rocket science or a new thought that our human capacities have not kept pace with our technological know-how or the explosion of the number of knowable things.  Perhaps our “age of anxiety,” if we are in one, is induced, in part, by a sense that we can’t keep up.  We can, however, choose which machines to turn on when. We can take walks, count to ten, smell the roses, as it were.

The best pitchers in baseball mix their pitches, fast, slow, faster, slower.  There is room in life for fast and slow. Maybe the challenge these days is to ensure space for slow.

Daniel E. White

October 14, 2019

Gizzard Stones

I could not wait to go with Dad to a driving range where he would teach me how to hit a golf ball.  It seemed like such a grown-up thing to do. When you are 8, you have entered that period of I-can’t-wait-until stage of life.

One spring afternoon, not long before our planned visit to the range, I decided that I should find out what is was like to hold a golf club. I found Dad’s bag in the garage and took out one of the iron clubs; the wood-shafted ones looked too long for me.  How cool it felt to hold an actual golf club in my hands.

Our house in Seattle backed up to an alley, and there was a sizeable expanse of lawn between the alley and our house. It occurred to me that I should take a few swings with the club so I went into the yard to give it a try. I began taking the club back, swinging it forward, just like I imagined I would be learning how to do at the range. The clubhead felt heavy in my 8-year-old hands but I imagined that the weight would help me hit the ball far.

Had I stopped there, I would have enjoyed a private fantasy that would have prepped me for that big day with Dad. However, something made me think that putting a ball down in the grass and taking a swing would be even better. I got a ball from the bag, went back to the yard, put the ball in the grass, and swung.

First-time golfers often miss the ball the first few attempts they make to strike it.  I did not. The ball hit the window on the basement door and made a neat golf-ball-size hole in it.

The best I could do when Dad asked me about the hole in the window was “I didn’t mean it.”

Judy’s brother, David, went with us on our 2019 trip to New Zealand.  David is an accomplished scientist, known internationally in entomological circles, who has even named species. The February 2002 National Geographic cover features a photograph he took of a scarab beetle, and a feature story inside is about one of his collecting trips to Honduras searching for new species. He has the curiosity of a true scientist and superb observation skills. Through sight, hearing, and smell, he dissects his surroundings to reveal the wonders of nature wherever he is.

Early in the trip, David got interested in the gizzard stones left in the earth when Maori tribesmen killed and butchered moa. Moa flourished in New Zealand before human contact. They were large birds, some species ranging in height up to 11 feet. The Maori used multiple parts of the moa, for food, tools, clothing, etc., but did not develop any system for controlling how many they killed. As a result, the moa are long extinct.

Gizzard stones are traces of moa, pebbles ingested by the birds to facilitate digesting food. Several species of birds exhibit that behavior today. Moa looked for pebbles of an appropriate size—perhaps even a particular kind—and, if researchers are right, sometimes traveled some distance to find appropriate stones. Over time, the acid and the churning action in the moa’s gizzard smoothed the stones, sometimes even shining them up a bit.

When the Maori butchered a moa, the gizzard and its stones were likely left with other viscera of little interest to the Maori. Over time, these clusters would be covered by dirt and vegetation. Occasionally, a collection is gizzard stones is uncovered, often when a road is cut through, leaving layers visible in the embankment, or some similar disturbance of the land. The cluster contains pebbles unlike any other in the vicinity, giving researchers confidence that a cache of gizzard stones is genuine.

David found a cache of gizzard stones, a highlight of his trip.  I found a moment of reflection.

The Maori did not mean to cause the extinction of all species of moa. They saw the birds as a source for things they needed and used. They developed the means to get what they wanted, and all that is left now are collections of smooth, out-of-place pebbles, surely an unintended consequence.

I didn’t mean to break the window but, of course, as an 8-year-old, I was attracted by the chance to pretend I was something I was not, a grown-up boy.  I did not think through the consequences any more than did the Maori.

Our quotidian lives are filled with actions and decisions we must make, often with little time and less information than we might like. Sometimes, things turn out in unintended ways.

Sometimes “didn’t mean to” doesn’t matter, like the broken window.  Sometimes, effects are more profound, like killing off an entire species.  There are many things in our lives, our country, and our world about which we might want to take the time to think through consequences and estimate possible outcomes.  When we do not, we risk having only gizzard stones to remind us of our folly.

Daniel E. White

September 30, 2019

Renewal

A friend, widowed some years back, wrote me in response to an earlier About Aging in which I noted the space that empties when a loved one dies.  She told me about her recent doings, giving me a palpable sense of what her life has become since her husband died. It got me to thinking about renewal, the process by which we People of a Certain Age cope with loss and refashion our lives to continue on.

In the movie, The Visitor, Walter is a university professor whose wife has died. We first see him as a pinched pretender, inflexible toward others, always claiming to be busy with research for his latest book, harried by the burden of teaching his one class per semester, the same one he has taught for years.

The circumstances of the movie place Walter in the company of two illegal immigrants in New York City, a couple.  The man is from Syria, the woman from West Africa. The man came to the U.S. with his family many years ago. She came more recently.  Both are productive members of society.

The man plays the drums. Walter is attracted to the beat, and the man tutors Walter who begins to lose himself in drumming.  The man invites Walter to an outside jam session of drummers in Washington Square. On the way home, they are confronted by subway police who take the man into custody for an erroneously-perceived misdemeanor.

Quickly, the man’s illegal status is discovered, and he is scheduled for deportation. Helping the man becomes Walter’s obsession; he feels responsible because the man got arrested doing Walter a kindness.

Rent the movie from Netflix to see the rest of the story. The important outcome is that Walter discovers a new purpose for living.

Renewal, as described by John Gardner in his book by that title, is not revision. Renewal does not erase the past. Rather, renewal is about a new cycle of life. It is not unique to any age or stage of life.  Renewal is, one hopes, an on-going process, a characteristic of a life well-lived.

Mom’s life provided a vivid example of renewal.  She, too, experienced the loss of her husband, after 56 years of marriage.  Her story of renewal began with her work for her church as a Stephen Minister. These lay people receive training and then offer themselves to others in need.

For Mom, her “others” were also widows, coming to grips with their empty spaces.  The minister’s widow became a minster herself.

Then followed another renewal.  This one was a double. Chad, her friend from junior high school days 70 years before, contacted her. Chad’s wife of 56 years had died a month after Dad, creating another empty space.

That contact began a ten-year relationship, nine years as a married couple. Both Chad and Mom thrived in their time together, breathing new vitality into each other’s lives.

Renewal came for another good friend in the form of a kolea (golden plover for my mainland friends) that flew into her imagination and rekindled spark in her life.  To tell stories of Hawaiian history through tales about the kolea has lifted her to places she did not expect to be.

In the musical, “Les Miz,” a young man laments “empty chairs at empty tables” as he mourns the loss of friends who died in acts of revolution.  What those of us familiar with the story know is that, though those tables and chairs might have emptied, the young man’s life was about to change significantly.

Death is not the only reason spaces empty.  You People of a Certain Age who are retired, like Judy and me, know that the transition from active employment and integral roles in our respective enterprises to a time unencumbered by anything other than what you might think to do in a day creates empty spaces. If your work included periodic affirmations and accolades directed at you for your endeavors, adjusting to the absence of such affirmation can take some time.

Judy and I never had children of our own. But I can imagine that the “empty nest” our parenting friends have experienced can feel a lot like empty space.

Fortunately, renewal is an equal opportunity unbounded by time. Walter found his in a surprising way and after a significant period of emptiness.  It was more than a year after Dad died before Mom began her journey to renewal through her Stephen Ministry work.  It took a while for the kolea to find my friend.

Those with newly emptied spaces might not yet be ready to embrace renewal.

There is no right time or way to renewal.  Nor is there any limit to the space available to us in our lives. Empty spaces do not necessarily need to be filled because new spaces emerge. Replacements are not required: new purpose arises. On-going relationships persist and new ones form.  All we need do is to be open to the possibilities.

Daniel E. White

September 16, 2019

Enough

On January 6, 1941, President Franklin Roosevelt presented his State of the Union Address to Congress.  War was raging in Europe but official U.S. policy was against American involvement “over there.”

The President talked about security, the economy, his legislative agenda; the usual stuff of State of the Union Addresses. One memorable line—“As men do not live by bread alone, they do not fight by armaments alone”—advanced his belief that holding the right values and governing according to the will of the people were powerful tools to motivate opposition to tyranny, as important as armies.

The most memorable section of the speech, however, has been celebrated in most books about U.S. history and used as advertisement about the values at the core of America (even meriting a Norman Rockwell painting!). Roosevelt committed himself to the goal of ensuring basic freedoms worldwide.

People of a Certain Age, your U.S. History course likely included reference to the Four Freedoms speech.  Can any of us name all four without checking Google? Perhaps you, like me, have heard FDR’s distinctive voice and unique emphases as he laid out his vision, which he believed was America’s, too.

Roosevelt was on safe ground with Americans of all political persuasions with his first two freedoms: “Freedom of speech and expression—everywhere in the world.” And, “Freedom to worship God in his own way everywhere in the world.” After all, he merely took parts of the Bill of Rights and wished that all humankind could enjoy those freedoms.

The fourth freedom he listed qualifies as a pie-in-the-sky wish that flies in the face of the history of human beings.  But it is a nice wish. FDR wanted “freedom from fear which, translated into world terms, means a worldwide reduction of armaments to such a point and in such a thorough fashion that no nation will be in a position to commit an act of physical aggression against any neighbor anywhere in the world.”

Today, there are already too many nations possessing nuclear weapons. Several more aspire to have them, believing that, with a nuke comes respect. Ironically, the relative decline of declared wars between nations since World War Two might be the fruit of widespread nuclear armament among nations not currently disposed to use them, yet not willing to give them up.

FDR was not alone in wishing for arms reduction. Some reductions have occurred through treaties, to be sure.  But, a lot of hearts and minds around the world would need to change before the world got to the state envisioned by Roosevelt.

The third freedom is within reach, given certain conditions and the will of people to achieve it. Roosevelt called for “freedom from want, which translated into the world means economic understandings which will secure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants everywhere in the world.”

The conditions? First, that we find agreement among nations about what constitutes a “healthy peacetime life.” Second, that nations pursue public policies that advance the possibility of every inhabitant everywhere in the world having such a life.

Neither condition will be easy to fulfill.

Steven Pinker, in his book, Enlightenment Now, got us thinking, during our lanai reading time, about the idea of “enough.” Pinker argues, in brief, that public opinion surveys reveal that people are willing to put up with economic inequality as long as they feel that the economic system is fair and that they can secure enough for themselves and their families

We were startled by that finding. Then we wondered, what is “enough?” Surely people who have enough can pursue a “healthy peacetime life.” But can we agree on what is “enough?”

What kinds of public policies would advance the cause of securing for every person in the world a “healthy peacetime life?” Would that line of inquiry lead one beyond the noise of tariffs, redistribution of assets and direct payments to people to explore what might be done so that every person in the world has the opportunity to pursue the benefits of a world in which, as Pinker points out, the collective wealth in the world is continuously expanding?

“Enough” is complicated. Is “enough” merely secure housing, food, jobs, access to education, transportation and a little money left over each month to be able to go to the movies now and then? Does “enough” now have to include computing capacity at home to access online resources? Or a phone that stores information, takes great photos and, on occasional take phone calls?

Does access to education mean free post-secondary work? Does a secure job mean guaranteed lifetime employment? Does “enough” mean eating the same fruit all year long, seasons notwithstanding?

One can easily move from the simple to the complex trying to define “enough.” Most steps along the way cost money that would have to come from somewhere.

Some time ago, in my work with Ed.D. students at the University of Hawaii, I suggested that just society would include for all people equal access to the opportunities available in that society.  In this way, individuals have a stake in achieving enough, and society has the obligation to ensure equal access to the opportunities.

Freedom from want—having enough—is doable if we can figure out what is enough.

Daniel E. White

September 2, 2019

Optimism

President Reagan observed that if you find a room filled with horse manure, there must be a pony in there somewhere.  He was an optimist.

A pessimist would be sure that the pony had trotted off already.  A scientist would have tried to figure out how the manure got there in the first place, or perhaps if the pony had a good diet.

Who has not heard about the glass and its contents?  It is half-full for some, half empty for others. A physicist points out that the glass is always full. The question is, with what besides air?

I was raised on Winnie-the-Pooh stories.  I have written before that, early in our marriage, I read the Pooh stories to Judy, who had not been introduced to them as a child. Since then, we have visited the Hundred Acre Wood and even thrown Pooh sticks off the bridge. I am sure these have contributed to our years of marital bliss.  We even have characters we have agreed capture at least some of our agreed-upon characteristics. Eeyore is not one of them.

It would be hard to call Winne anything other than an optimist. In his mind, what he wanted was always possible.  Likewise, Eeyore epitomizes pessimism. Significantly, Eeyore is seldom, if ever, right. Winnie’s naïve optimism creates the situations that make up the stories.

A good friend prompted my thinking about optimism in an email exchange.  She is confronting a severe health issue and has been keeping those of us who care for her up to date with her progress.  The title she gave this particular report was “Cautious Optimism.”

I wrote back that I thought the prudent approach to optimism would always be cautious.  While agreeing to a point, she wrote back that she is “wildly optimistic about life.”  I could not agree more.

It is worth thinking about, when to be cautious and when to be wild.  In believing that there MUST BE a pony in here somewhere, President Reagan seems wildly optimistic when something more cautious—there might be a pony—would be prudent.  But then, the story loses its zing, something that the larger-than-life actor-turned-Governor then President would have resisted.

Given the arc of his life, it is hard not to think of our 40th President as an optimist, wildly so. It was in his character to expect the pony to be there.

(An irony about presidential politics: candidates from the party not in power work like Eeyore to persuade voters that the only way to change the downward spiral of the nation is to elect them to be the next Presidential Pooh. For them, the pony has left the room.)

Is optimism a matter of nature or nurture or both?  People of a Certain Age, we all have known people whose nature seems like Eeyore. How did they get that way? Will they be like that forever? For their sake, I hope not.

I suggested caution because life is uncertain. We can’t know what might occur to thwart our optimism. Yet, to dwell on what negative things might happen would be immobilizing.

Columbus was optimistic that the world was round even while others were sure his ships would sail off the edge of the world. European immigrants to the Western Hemisphere were optimistic that they would not succumb to disease, starvation or attacks by hostile indigenous people. The Americans signing the Declaration of Independence were optimistic that their side would win, and that they would not be hanged for treason.

Isn’t deciding to bring a child into the world a resounding expression of optimism? Are the parents not wildly optimistic about life?

There is merit in the scientist’s desire to figure out from whence comes the manure and in the physicist’s reframing the question. These, too, might reflect the caution I mentioned.

Judy and I have spent many hours reading together Enlightenment Now by Steven Pinker. Pinker uses myriad graphs, charts, data sets, and historical trend lines to make his case that today is the best time in all of history to be alive, and he provides a persuasive argument that tomorrow is likely to be even better.

An optimist would be cheered reading Pinker because her outlook on life is reinforced. A pessimist might question the accuracy of the data.  Or he might say, sure, things are good now, but you just wait.

Pinker plainly trusts the data. Yet he allows that human beings are capable of doing stupid things that could change the course of progress, like starting a nuclear war.

(Imagine a conversation between an optimist—we did not start a nuclear war today; a pessimist—the day is not over yet; and a scientist—I need more data to reach a conclusion)

I cannot identify with the Eeyores.  I don’t know if Eeyores can ever change. I can identify with Pooh but hope that my optimism takes into account facts like how hard it is to control a balloon you are hanging onto in an effort to fly by and collect some honey. I am okay with wondering where the manure came from, allowing for the possibility of the pony still being there.

I don’t know if that can ever change in me. For now, I am content to be cautiously optimistic that things in my life will unfold well enough and still be, like my friend, wildly optimistic about life.

Daniel E. White

August 19, 2019

Thoughts Really About Aging

A recent issue of The Atlantic featured an article by Arthur C. Brooks, the President of the American Enterprise Institute.  His title warned “Your Professional Decline is Coming (Much) Sooner Than You Think.” When I finished reading, I lamented that there is no “required” reading list for people 50 years of age and older for the course in which we are all enrolled, called “life.” Brooks’ article could be on the list.

50 as an age has meaning for me. At age 50, I gave up a perfectly good job at a fine school in Sacramento to move to Maui, to a school recently rescued from mediocrity by a head who had departed to the East Coast.  A few years later, I realized that I had been an example of an observation made by a professional colleague to his audience some years before: if you have a department (or school or company) in which a large number of the workers are men in their fifties, you have a department (etc.) in flux.

The observation might well apply to women but I am gender-unqualified to speak to the phases of life for women.

My colleague’s reasoning:  By age 50, one has usually A) established oneself in a career field, building contacts and networks, reputation, achievements, etc.; B) participated at some level in the raising of offspring who are fast approaching, chronologically, appropriate self-sufficiency; and C) taken note of the fact that the usual age for retirement (at least when he spoke) is little more than 15 years hence.

These facts create questions. Should one continue with what one is doing up to age 50? Or should one strike out on a new adventure, one great last hurrah before settling into a well-earned retirement doing something. That “something” in retirement might not be clear then, but Wilkins Micawber assured us in David Copperfield, “something will turn up,” and usually something does.

So, when the illustration for Brooks’ article depicted a man standing atop a triangular staircase on a step labeled “50,” looking down at steps numbered “60” and “70,” I took notice.  I am further down the staircase.

Brooks asserted that “the data are shockingly clear that for most people, in most fields, professional decline starts earlier than almost anyone thinks.” Then he offers more data to prove his point, examples from academia (research output), athletics (name your sport), policing, nursing, even (oh, the scandal of it all!) umpiring professional baseball.

People of a Certain Age, my friends and readers, we are all on that triangular staircase. We are all in professions or have been.  We can all grok (wonderful word borrowed from science fiction as you probably know) what Brooks is saying.

Happily, Brooks does not leave readers in despair. So-called Western philosophy and his own Roman Catholic faith did not provide Brooks with the insights he sought.  And the culture we share in the U.S. is not widely regarded for its creative ways of thinking about aging.  So, he looked to the East and found a Hindu teacher to explain the ways that faith tradition thinks about the stages of life.

There are four stages, explained the teacher. The first is the early years, dedicated to learning, lasting until early adulthood.  The second stage focuses on building a career, accumulating wealth, and raising a family.  Brooks’ teacher noted that these are the trap years when some, perhaps many, people become attached to “earthly rewards—money, power, sex, prestige—and thus try to make this stage last a lifetime.”

Happy are those who escape the trap, moving on to the third stage, “usually starting around age 50,” when focus shifts to spirituality and wisdom.

I wonder. If one surveyed churches, service clubs, and similar organizations, would one find the age range of the most actively involved to be those between 50 and 60 years old? Maybe.

Such activities do not end when one reaches stage four, though, the teacher observed. The third stage is meant to be a time of “studying and training” for the fourth. In this stage, we are intended, so the teaching goes, to be “totally dedicated to the fruits of enlightenment.”

Brooks wrote: “As we age, we should resist the conventional lures of success to focus on more transcendentally important things.”

This insight into life that Brooks and his Hindu teacher share is not about something accomplished in a vacuum.  Modern life is filled with sparkly distractions and enticing exhilarations. At times, transcendence can become lost behind the cloud of doing things; other forms of the “conventional lures.”

There are different ways of “doing” that match well with different stages of life. Brooks’ “professional decline” has an upside: growing understanding of the transcendental, if we are prepared to pay attention.

To share that understanding is the privilege accorded to people of a certain age. Brooks is a model: he left the AEI job to become a professor. There is a reason why so many cultures outside the U.S. venerate their elders—in Hawaii, we are called kupuna.  We People of a Certain Older Age know things we have learned through living.

Folks just need to ask.  

Daniel E. White

August 5, 2019

Men

We saw the play Allegiance this spring.  The play is set in one of the prison camps the United States set up to incarcerate Japanese-Americans during World War Two on the basis of race. During the first few minutes of the play, I had to tamp down my anger at this example of unfairness rooted in baseless fear.

At about midpoint of the first act, the lead character, Sam, reflects, in song (because Allegiance is a musical) on what it means to be a man. Toward the end of the second act, he returns with a reprise of the song with an understanding that comes from the events of the play in between.

We people of a certain chromosomal makeup have, over time, heard varying answers to the singer’s question presented to us. Just in my lifetime, philosophers and pundits have been opining regularly about what it means to be a man without any particular success at finding an answer. Not being a woman, I don’t know if that segment of the human race has engaged in the parallel question as much—what does it mean to be a woman—perhaps because they have been so busy multi-tasking., at which, I understand, they excel over men

Rudyard Kipling’s poem, If, might be the most well-known attempt to provide a definition. I was raised on If by a father who subscribed to the validity of many of Kipling’s descriptors: keeping your head, picking yourself up after setbacks, living each moment to its fullest, being courageous.

Sam, the singer in Allegiance, first sang the song in the spirit of Kipling—show you are a man by doing your duty to your country, your country’s unfairness toward you notwithstanding. Only as events unfold does Sam come to realize that another man who suffered the consequences of standing up for what he believed and a third who stood up to authority and was beaten down for it might be fine examples of a man as well.

Here’s a rub: Most every definition of what it means to me a man uses descriptors that would be seen as virtues of a woman as well (absent the Warrior Myth for men and the Weaker-sex nonsense for women).

So, gentlemen, aside from musculature and plumbing, what makes us so special? Aside, of course, from the fact that most of the written history of humankind has been penned by men, mostly about the doings of other men, and that a lion’s share of the advantages in a large number of societies have accrued to men.

Shakespeare gave Hamlet some great lines about men (and women, too) in Act II, Scene II: “What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world. The paragon of animals.”

Of course, he follows with “And yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust. Man delights me not nor woman either…”

Now Hamlet was a troubled guy. That gives the play its dramatic tension. But he was clever enough to be brutally ironic, it seems, seeing the potential of man consistently unachieved. They might be able to think and act nobly, but more often than not, they are dust. The paragon of animals has more often been animal than paragon of anything.

It’s not so hard to substitute “woman” in these lines, although it disturbs the rhythm of the poetry, and Hamlet/Shakespeare was not intending to comment on women at this point in the play.

So, if Kipling’s If and Hamlet’s “piece of work” can apply to woman as well, what distinguishes men?

Gender issues are discussed more openly in popular culture these days than when we People of a Certain Age were growing up. About all we had was Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons in 1963 imploring guys to “walk like a man” even as someone else (in this instance, a girl) was spreading rumors about you. (Not bad advice for girls either; would it be “walk like a woman?”)

Gender issues are hard to escape in the media: gender identification, gender-free language, gender-neutral bathrooms. Even the #MeToo movement is, at some level, a clash of gender understandings within our culture.

I am happy to be a Person of a Certain Age when it comes to such matters. I daresay the youth of today are bombarded with myriad conflicting models of what they are supposed to be in order to live up to the ideal of what a man or woman should be.

Should be. Maybe it is time to drop the “should be.” Why not become aspirational and focus on striving to live up to Hamlet’s ideal or understanding that Kipling’s male-centric poem can apply to all people, male or female?

Many schools post their school values in prominent places on campus, things like justice, kindness, generosity of spirit, concern for others. On a recent visit to our collegiate alma mater, UC Riverside, we saw such banners attached to the light poles leading away from the student union.

Many Hawaii schools do the same, only the words are in Hawaiian: pono, malamalama, ha’aheo—acting justly, caring for others, humble pride. These values have no gender.

Daniel E. White

July 22, 2019


Daniel E. White

July 22, 2019

What Would You Give Up

When I was teaching AP U.S. History, I required students to read a short book, Plunkett of Tammany Hall.  George Washington Plunkett worked a ward for the New York City Democratic Party political machine in the latter part of the 19th century and wrote about his experience.

Plunkett described a situation that offered me a chance to engage the students in a conversation about competing values. In brief, there was a fire in a shop over which the owner and his family lived. Everything in the shop and the home was destroyed. The first person on the scene after the fire brigade was the ward boss for the political machine. In short order, he arranged for housing, clothing, furniture and food for the family and a job for the husband until the shop could be repaired.  All the boss asked, Plunkett wrote, was for the man’s vote in elections.

Would that be, I asked the students, a reasonable deal?

Plunkett came to mind when I heard the mayor of South Bend, Indiana, presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg, talk with Jimmy Fallon about his military service in Afghanistan. Fallon showed the audience a photograph of Mayor Pete in full combat gear with a group of kids playing in the dirt street.

“The kids were acting like kids, laughing, running, playing.  All their parents really want is a chance to be left alone and live normal lives,” said the mayor.  There used to be a system of warlords in Afghanistan that supplied order and peace for the people, not democratic but generally secure. If the warlords insured people the chance to live normal lives, is that a reasonable deal?

Buttigieg’s observation came the same day candidates for the Senate in the Philippines loyal to President Duterte won all 12 of the seats being contested. Despite Duterte’s willingness to have drug dealers and users shot without the benefit of a trial, his popularity with the people of his country, according to independent polls, stands at 80% approval.

The NPR reporter asked his colleague, a BBC person stationed in the region, to offer explanations for why Duterte remains so popular even when his actions offend the sensibilities of people in other countries, including the United States. The BBC man replied that people were feeling safe on the streets again. Before Duterte came to power, promising to kill the people he seems to be killing, the reporter continued, people believed that drugs—buying, selling, using—were the underlying cause of substantial levels of violence that often endangered innocent people.

For someone living in Manila or some other city in the Philippines, is trading security for Duterte’s rule a reasonable deal?

People of a Certain Age, these examples are not just stories from other times and other places. We face decisions regularly that pose the same question; is that a reasonable deal?

Among myriad political discussions that are derived from false dichotomies, one that poses this question starkly, centers around government regulation. One hears some folks argue against any government regulation, overlooking such obvious regulations as stop signs and speed limits, zoning laws, truth in advertising, standards for clean water and food safety. Government regulation in these instances seems a reasonable deal. My freedom to do some things may reasonably be constrained for a greater good.

The real debate, then, is not about regulation or not, but about what is reasonable. Reasonable people often disagree about what is reasonable. That’s what fuels the political system.

Plunkett describes a trade that many people would consider corrupt; aid and services exchanged for a vote. How does that differ from a government committed to “promote the general welfare,” as the Preamble of the Constitution stipulates, elected to enact policies that support the economic well-being of its citizens?

Duterte promised security. “Common Defense” is another job of government on behalf of its citizens according to the Preamble. He defined an “enemy” and is acting as he said he would to combat that enemy on behalf of the citizenry. The citizens like what he is doing.

It is easy in the abstract to criticize political machines and autocratic leaders. Such criticism would point out that there are no restraints on either. Hence, machines or autocrats could easily move beyond the actions they have taken that seem beneficial to the citizenry to undertake possible actions that would be harmful to the citizenry.

But if you feel unsafe or have lost everything…

The fear of unrestrained power is what animates the idea of democracy, where regular voting is intended as a check on power, not to mention the separation of powers established by the Framers.

Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern of New Zealand has led the “Christchurch Call” in the wake of the killing in that city. The “Call” is aimed at eliminating violent extremist content from spreading online as happened in the March massacre. The Christian Science Monitor observed that in some parts of the world, such a call would raise issues about freedom of speech.

“In some parts of the world” refers to us in the US. Freedom of speech is enshrined in our history and culture.

Would the regulation Prime Minister Ardern is seeking from governments and social media firms be a reasonable deal?

This Fourth of July, let’s toast a political system where reasonable people can engage in reasonable dialogue about what constitutes reasonable deals. Now, if we could just do so.

Daniel E. White

July 4, 2019

people can engage in reasonable dialogue about what constitutes reasonable deals. Now, if we would just do so.

It Takes Some Getting Used To

Toward the close of the celebration of life for my friend, Bob, Kahu noted that, when someone you love dies, the time you most notice the loss is when you are in the space that you once shared. That idea—of a shared space now empty except for you—stuck with me.

My father died 21 years ago this past week, one week before Judy and I moved to Hawaii.  Before the last month of his life, I would see him four or five times a year at most. I lived in Sacramento. He lived near San Diego. My job as a head of school often demanded my time on weekends, so the opportunities to see him were limited.

When I did get to San Diego, we would try to play a round of golf or at least go hit a bucket of balls at the driving range. Those were the times I learned what I could about his life and thinking. That was harder than I imagined; he was a very private guy who had endured a lot of hurt in his career.

Our moving to Hawaii would have limited our times together even more, given distance and cost, My chances to find out more about Dad would, correspondingly also lessen.  And he was not much of a conversationalist on the phone.

When he died, those chances became zero. At his memorial service, I quoted someone: “He is no longer where he once was but he is everywhere you are.” That is a beautiful thought that glosses over the idea of the loss of that shared space where I could learn more about the man whose son I am.

My mother died three years ago this summer. Living in Hawaii, in the best of years, I would see her about the same number of times I had been seeing Dad. However, unlike Dad, Mom would talk on the phone as long as I placed the call.  We chatted nearly every week.

Her life after Dad’s death was full: a stint as a Stephen Minister for her church comforting widows like herself; her bear ministry making teddy bears for the pastor to take to members he visited; her nine-year marriage to a man she had not seen for seventy years, nine years filled with joy and laughter; and her involvement in the prayer group at church. Our conversations lasted an hour or longer as she told me details of her life.  Sometimes our chats would edge into philosophizing together.

Those phone calls were not a physical space we shared. I couldn’t really hug her. I could metaphorically, and I looked forward to her reporting on the events of her week. We shared a space on the phone.

When she got e-mail, she sent a daily message, and I answered. We then also shared a space online.

There are no phone lines to heaven, no internet access.  It took some getting used to not to send a morning message to her or hear her sparkling laughter on the phone. My auditory memory, vivid though it might be, is a poor substitute. Our space emptied.

People of a Certain Age, the older we get, the more we are having to come to grips with empty spaces. That’s not a complaint so much as a description of one condition of long life that takes some getting use to.

Growing old takes getting used to, too.  When we entered the church for Bob’s service, I recognized many people from our days on Maui when we attended church there. To be more precise, I saw in the aging faces and hobbled gaits suggestions of how those folks had looked in their younger days, when I had seen them last.

That was no first time experience. On the occasions when I see contemporaries whom I have not seen in a number of years, I take in how they look now as compared to how they looked before. Likely, they do the same thing looking at me.  Seeing our friends from younger days in old age takes some getting used to.

Too many of my friends are fighting serious illness. Many conversations with People of a Certain Age begin with a recap of our current health. Too often I have found myself wishing that I had enjoyed one more visit, heard one more story, shared one more meal with someone now gone.

Consequences of caring; they take some getting used to.

Yet…

Kahu included in Bob’s service these words we read in unison:

“A human life is sacred.

It is sacred in its being born.

It is sacred in its living.

And it is sacred in its dying.

It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch.

A fearful thing to love, hope, dream, to be…

To be, and oh! to lose.

For your life has lived in me,

Your laugh has lifted me, Your word was gift to me.

To remember this brings a painful joy!

‘Tis a human thing, love, a holy thing

to love what death has touched.”

The spaces will continue to empty. One day we will all leave a space empty. Already we have borne painful joy.

I’m not sure I ever want to get completely used to it.

Daniel E. White

June 23, 2019

What’s In Your History?

Another friend who has made 80 years often responds to my musings with comments or stories of his own. I regard these responses as gifts, the kind of interaction that binds people together. Others of you have been regular respondents as well, giving me more gifts of little bits of your lives.

My friend suggested that the bi-monthly network About Aging has created could, on occasion, become a shared record of the “unusual or remarkable events in, or aspects of, family histories.” His idea is au courant with the popularity among PBS viewers of “Finding Your Roots” where famous people learn things about their families that surprise and amaze. And, the idea serves as a reminder to People of a Certain Age or any age that, if you delay in finding out family stories, you soon might never be able to find out.

For example, my sister and I heard Dad say on many occasions that, when he was chosen to play Jesus in a local version of a passion play, his life was changed forever. Obviously, we know he played the part. We never asked how it changed his life and why, and we will never know.  The lesson is obvious but learned too late.

Sandee has been friends with a famous actress. Judy attended to Senator Strom Thurmond’s newest wife on the occasion of their visit to the UCR campus as the wife cooed from time to time, “isn’t he just grand?” A famous television actor sat in my office at Webb and asked me to tell him how to raise his son. Such are the kind of tidbits that add a little glitter to our otherwise normal lives.

My friend told me that his mom had tea (not by herself) with Benito Mussolini. His dad chatted regularly with President Woodrow Wilson at the Paris Peace Conference that produced the League of Nations.

His great-grandfather was an attorney who often did legal work for the Hawaiian monarchy, and to him fell the assignment of drafting the Abdication Statement for Queen Lilioukalani. Both Admiral Chester Nimitz and General Bull Halsey attended a cocktail party at Paul’s family home during World War Two. Another partygoer in those days became the Commanding Officer of the Blockade during the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Yet another friend in her 80s told me that her dad was instrumental in there being all those coconut palm trees at Ko Olina. Another time, she regaled Judy and me with stories about her relationship to the Ala Moana shopping center in general and a jewelry store-owner therein in particular. Fortunately for her kids and grandkids, she has written about some of the tidbits in her life, like the time she had lunch with Deng Xio Peng.

One of the many wild ideas I have yet to pursue came to me when I was visiting retirement communities to talk about, and then give away copies of, So Help Me God, my book about Presidents. During a Q and A session, the daughter of one of the residents at Plaza Pearl City noted, in an offhand way, that there were sitting in the room volumes of stories that would be great for the families of residents to know.

What a worthwhile project it would be for someone to sit with the elderly and record their stories and then offer the collection of stories to their families!

The woman’s comment reminded me of a time when Judy sent two Webb School seniors to Pilgrim Place, a community for retired ministers, missionaries and other who had spent their lives in full-time Christian service, to record stories for the students’ Senior Projects. The boys recorded stories that focused on the time the missionaries serving on mainland China had to flee the oncoming armies of Mao Tse Tung. The boys went with little enthusiasm. They came back to campus enthralled.

I don’t remember if we thought to share the stories the boys collected with the families of the missionaries. If we didn’t, we missed an opportunity.

Why does it matter that those stories are told? Maybe it doesn’t matter. My life was not greatly affected by a famous actor lamenting in my office. My friend’s brush with World War Two royalty gave him stories to tell but probably not much else. I am sure my friend has no proprietary feelings toward dozens of palm trees.

Yet sometimes it might matter that we take the time to inquire about what is in our own histories. At a minimum, it is possible that something we find out and share might elicit a heretofore-unknown connection to other people. More importantly, for those who want to understand their parents better, asking follow-up questions like why and how can be avenues to discovering what’s in our own history.

Many of us are avid readers of history. Not enough of us are record-keepers of history.

Anyone else care to share “unusual or remarkable events in, or aspects of, your family histories?”

Daniel E. White

June 10, 2019