This July 4th, as it commemorates the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, calls for retrospection and reassessment, for a comparison of past and present conditions of our country. In some, it prompts either a naïve nostalgia assuming the superiority of the former to the latter or a political yearning for a return to yesteryear. For them, this bon mot is apt; for me, it is amusing, for I do not think it true of me as I compare the times of my earlier and later years. I have been pleased to age; I think that I have learned more, even acquired a modicum of wisdom (a word not much in use today), and changed for the better.
Until a dozen years ago, I had thought that America was steadily becoming a more perfect union. Until then, I had witnessed the end of Jim Crow laws and KKK lynchings (Emmett Till, 1955) or other murders (James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, and Michael Schwerner, 1964); the liberation of women to have choices in bodily autonomy—to abort or not to abort, that is the question—and in professional careers beyond those of schoolteachers, nurses, and librarians, occupations still generally regarded as women’s work; and the termination of residential covenants against Blacks and Jews in many places, including my hometown, Shaker Heights. But Martin Luther King’s leadership in the 1955-1956 Montgomery bus boycott was a sign of changes to come; no one had to be a weatherman to know which way the winds were blowing. Obviously, the presidency of Donald Trump and the ascendency of MAGA and other even more extreme fascist organizations have done much to make the union less perfect than it had become.
As I review my life and times, not the political and social development of the past 86 years, I view the experiences of my youth as better, healthier, and happier than I believe the experiences of today’s youth are.
One notable change from my times to later times is the rise and spread of Little League. In my day—I am talking 1945 to 1958—, football, basketball, and baseball games (nobody played soccer) were pick-up games even if they were regular occurrences. In elementary school, we played mostly baseball. The biggest or the best athletes were captains who chose the teams and assigned positions. If they chose themselves to key positions too often, other players would grumble and demand fairness in assignments. We resolved disputes by arguing, not fighting except for a little shoving once in a while. In the end, everyone got to play the position which he preferred once in a while, but some proved themselves so good at certain positions that everyone wanted them there. We never suffered from coaches picking their sons for key positions, resolving disputes, and managing the game, or from parents screaming at us to try harder.
We just had fun. At the 11:45 elementary school lunch break, I would race the three blocks home, wolf down a sandwich and a glass of milk, and race back to school to get in an hour of baseball before classes resumed. I usually played second base, though I sometimes pitched, and I had a special role as well. The playground had two fields; one had its right field, the other had its left field, defined by a chain link fence behind which a large, male German Shepherd patrolled. Most of the kids teased the dog by running along the fence and strumming a stick against the fence. The dog barked angrily in defense of the property. But I always talked to the dog and became friends with it. So, whenever someone hit a home run, I was the retriever who jumped the fence to get the ball. It gave me a chance to play with the dog a bit. Some days, the lady of the house—I remember her name: Mrs. Vernon—invited me in for cookies and milk or lemonade to thank me for being kind to her dog. Pick-up games, friendly neighbors—a far cry from sports organized by adults who regulate or respond to them for their purposes.
But one decision I regret. I loved basketball and was good at it on either end of the court. My elementary school and junior-high-school friend Dale Huge and I were about as evenly matched a pair of ballers as anyone had ever seen. He was slightly better than I, say, 51-49. Kids watched our one-on-one, hour-long games. In our first semester in senior-high school, Dale asked me what sport I was going out for; I said cross-country. He objected and asked me why; he said that we should go out for basketball and be the starting guards by the end of the season. I declined without telling him the real reason: I was too shy to want to play in front of a crowd. He started by season’s end while I jogged along just enough to stay in shape for spring track. So I remember not being better then, only missing a chance to be as good as I was.
Another notable change was the disappearance of Friday-night canteens hosted by Plymouth Church (UCC) for junior-high students in its basement. The kitchen served hot dogs, potato chips, candy, ice cream, and other junk food. Several knock-hockey games filled an open space; it served those, mostly boys, who were shy and those who wanted a break from dancing. The important space was a dimly lit dance floor separated from the food and game areas by ceiling-to-floor curtains. The only adult present was a parent playing 45s for dancing; well-behaved, we needed no chaperones. Close dancing and an occasional, quick, covert kiss were about as randy as we got. When canteen ended at about 10:30, our parents, who had dropped us off, picked us up and took us home. As I look back on the canteens, I am grateful that we did not have malls to make us grow up faster than our years allowed.
What was good in my early years was shared close personal relationships and social interactions in relaxed settings. Today, I regret that minors experience fewer similar experiences.
The villain in the piece is electronic technologies. Before televisions became commonplace, the kids in my neighborhood played street games: hopscotch, hide-and-seek, and capture the flag. There was not much television to watch, and I grew up not watching it much, only a few selected shows, and skipping the rest. In 2015, I gave my TVs to Goodwill and have not missed them. I go to Chicago to watch the Michigan-Ohio State football game with my son and ex-wife on Thanksgiving weekend, and find a way to watch WNBA games or, more often, players (Sonia Citron, Caitlin Clark, Angel Reese) of special interest. I was slow to get a computer—my first was an Epson, in 1983—and, of course, have had one ever since. I cannot imagine how I wrote my dissertation just 10 years earlier. I use it for writing blogs, reading the news, and getting sports scores, not playing games or watching movies. I finally got an iPhone, which I use mostly for a few calls and messages, and, when waiting for doctors, the latest news or sports scores.
I do not use Facetime and any other apps which are so popular for “staying touch with family and friends.” I intuited early what experts have come to recognize as the baleful influence of smartphones on infants, children, and teenagers. They are addictive, and their overuse often leads to personal isolation, anxiety, and depression, and away from healthy activities with others. I recognize their equally baleful influence on adults in the empty time spent staying in touch and political trash-mongering. AI will be even worse because it will make it more difficult to stay in touch with reality; it will disorient us, make us distrustful, and corrupt human interactions.
I might sound like a dyspeptic old man, but I am not dyspeptic. How could I be? I have returned to where I started, with good friends as neighbors. I have four dogs, my best pack ever, and a cat—a happy family. In retirement, I look back on a long, gratifying life as a consultant, civic activist, and scholar. I have not regretted aging because I have enjoyed maturing, which one, like me, must aspire to and attempt to achieve. In defiance of my title, I think that I am better now, in my golden years, than I was then.
Enjoy this Fourth, but take a moment to reflect not only on who we were and are as a country, but also on who we were and are as persons. Can the country be better, a more perfect union? Can we be better, more perfect persons?
