I first heard the expression when very young. At the time it wasn’t clear to me. Today it seems to happen more and more often.
It was the 1960s, in my school days. There was a man in the neighborhood, Carlo, that my grandmother often spoke to. Both immigrants, from the same country. My assumption was they were approximately the same age. Then Grandma shocked me. The man was 103.
It was roughly 1968 when she told me. Just a little math was needed. He was born in either 1864 or 1865. Abraham Lincoln was president or had recently been assassinated; the Civil War was being fought. There were 36 states; America had a population of roughly 32 million. Postage for a one ounce letter was a penny, air travel was science fiction, and television wasn’t an idea or word yet. Carlo’s country, Italy, was a kingdom then. He came to America by ship. A two week trip. Today he’d book a flight and be here in about ten hours.
In school days age 30 seems old, so just imagine 103. Today, people my age see a 30 year old as a youngster, and a 103 years old — if we make it that long — is on the horizon.
The memories of the man aren’t quite clear. From what I can recall, he was in pretty good shape. Lively and spry, with a sharp mind, he spoke fractured, but comprehensible English. Working in his garden daily, clearing snow in winter, he seemed to have the energy of a much younger man.
I didn’t speak to him much. What did a school-age boy have to say to a man 103 years old? Today I’d have a thousand questions for him. My knowledge of history and life for immigrants during the second immigration wave was limited. True, I did hear some stories from my grandparents. But it was well before my time and nothing relatable to my life.
He’d likely talk about World Wars I and II, the Depression, Big Band music, Pearl Harbor, and the frenzy Orson Welles caused when reading “The War of the Worlds.”
What could I talk to the man about? Elvis Presley, The Beatles? Gilligan’s Island, Star Trek, The Flintstones? Sex education in schools and bell bottom pants? A year later was Woodstock and Charles Manson. All pop culture or byproducts of it.
What goes around, comes around. Not too long ago I was at a show where school-age children were the majority of attendees. They looked at me dumbfounded when I mentioned Ethel Merman, Carole King, Procol Harum, the Vietnam War, that the Catholic Mass was once in Latin, cigarette commercials aired on television, and that before the postal strike in 1970 letter carriers delivered mail in a shoulder bag.
I certainly can’t discuss Cardi B, Taylor Swift, flavored tobacco, cell phones in school, and creating artificial intelligence. Nor did they seem to be much interested in Woodstock, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, how the shower and basement scenes in Psycho had audiences screaming, or the night The Beatles went on The Ed Sullivan Show and turned the world of music, fashion, and men’s hair lengths upside down. They certainly would never know the thrill of watching man’s first trip to the moon.
Seems pretty certain that in another thirty years today’s teenagers’ pop culture will be a thing of the past. New technologies, culture and diversions will occupy their children’s and grandchildren’s lives.
The world is constantly changing. We need to keep up or we fall behind. But we have our memories. Those can’t be taken from us.
Who’s to say which generation had it better? Look at the present rates of obesity and divorce, the effects of technology, cell phones, Artificial Intelligence, and lack of family cohesion. Have the lyrics in the song “In the Year 2525” come true five hundred years earlier than expected?
I don’t know. But maybe the Woodstock and Pepsi generations weren’t so bad after all.
What goes around, comes around.
William “Bill” Aiello is retired United States Postal Service employee. Since retirement, his published works comprise two books, with a third on the way, also a short story, and numerous poems. He is also a ventriloquist, part-time actor and appears monthly at an open mic event. Bill is co-Executive Director of the Miss Five Boroughs and Miss Queens Scholarship programs, two preliminaries to the Miss New York and Miss America competitions. The little spare time he has left is devoted to bicycling, amateur photography, watching horse races, and philately. These are activities with no relation to each other, but he believes dabbling in various fields keeps the mind active and gives him ideas for his written works.