Saratoga News

Point of View

Carl Heintze

Reflecting on 75 years of good living

I've come up against a sobering event. This month I am going to be 75 years old. That's three quarters of a century. That's a long time. I have to confess I don't know exactly what to make of it. But for the last month or so, I have been trying. It hasn't been particularly illuminating.

But I do know a couple of things. Being 75 means I was born near the beginning of the so-called Roaring '20s.

It means I remember hearing a radio broadcast telling of Lindbergh's return to the United States.

It also means I can remember when President Roosevelt ordered all banks closed, an event that seemed at the time like the end of the world.

It means I still remember the Depression--but I wish I could forget it.

It means I started college when Herbert Hoover was alive--as a matter of fact, he addressed my freshman class in college.

It means World War II seems like only yesterday to me, even if my children and their children think of it as ancient history. It means no one who wasn't there can tell you what it was like when the war was over, and neither can I. But it was truly the event of a lifetime. I never thought I'd survive it, but I did. Unless that's happened to you ...well, there's nothing like it with which to compare.

What else being 75 means is less clear. That I lasted, I suppose, and that a lot of contemporaries aren't around anymore. That I thought they would outlast me, but, in the event, as the British say, they didn't.

What I don't know is whether that's good or bad. I mean, does living longer mean living better? Probably not, though I like to think so. I like to think there is some accomplishment in getting where I've gotten.

On the other hand, I understand that getting to be 75 doesn't mean any particular getting of wisdom. If anything, I think I grow progressively dumber with each passing year. True, I can make my computer work, but I have no idea how it does what it does. Once I could repair my own car. But I can't anymore. It's too complicated a device.

Likewise, I have no idea who most current movie stars are or even what most contemporary movies are about (they seem to be mostly about crashing cars and exploding buildings), but then, my enthusiasm for films died with Ingrid Bergman and Humphrey Bogart.

Once, too, I used to keep up with current fiction, but that's gone by the boards. Most contemporary novelists write in the present tense (which repels me), and they all seem to have grotesque childhoods, weird relationships and no marriages. Read, for example, Raymond Carver or Flannery O'Connor, both of whom were great writers but knew a lot of strange people.

Today's news seems to grow increasingly irrelevant, but maybe it's really me who is in need of relevance. Still, I have trouble appreciating Bosnia or Zaire (whether it is called that or The Congo).

But then, what does being relevant mean, anyway?

Even when I was working, I never found myself to be very relevant to the body politic, to the wider world or to many others. Perhaps it was because I didn't want to be powerful, famous or admired. Which is just as well because I wasn't .

Nevertheless, the time has certainly passed, and time certainly has become an ever-larger part of living. The older I get, the less of it there seems to be available. It takes longer to get things done--or sometimes they don't get done at all. So I guess I have to admit I'm old.

And yet I would not take back any of the turbulent years through which I managed to pass with so few scars. Because in retrospect getting to 75 doesn't seem all that difficult. The only regret I've got now is that all those years went by so swiftly.

And I enjoyed them all--well, most of them. WW II wasn't much fun, but I'm glad I experienced it, nonetheless. Knowing you're now classified as old is not a jolly prospect, but I seem to be adapting. Finding it necessary to take at least one afternoon nap a day is daunting, but it's also very satisfying.

So I guess my birthday message to you who are not 75 is: It's not so bad. In fact, I may even get to like it.

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