To Be Or Not To Be

October 26th, 2004

It is fall. The leaves are turning and the weather is cold. If fall comes, can winter be far behind? And so I find myself meditating on death.

Ever since I was 25, I have thought of myself as being 25 no matter what my age. At 25 I had graduated from law school, had an exciting job, was living in a romantic loft in Greenwich Village and was wildly in love. She turned me down and I thought I would never love again.

Of course, as I grew older, my body aged, I gained experience, I developed new relationships, I married and had children, and left my exciting job for one that certainly paid a lot more money. But my cast of mind remained the same. Nowadays, at 76, I still think of myself as 25. My eye is no less roving than it ever was, although the female responses to me, with a single exception, are essentially grandfatherly. I look in the mirror and see somebody much older than I think I am, although if I look deeply I can still see the 25-year-old even if nobody else does.

And although I still think of myself as the athlete I was, I know this is merely a fond memory. Throws left, plays tennis right and writes right was on my trading card. The left arm was hurt early in my career so that my chances of making the majors, even though I was once offered a contract by a minor league team in, dare I say it? , the Yankee chain, are now forever gone. Tennis, paddle tennis and racquet ball, all stopped when suddenly my right arm went dead in my middle 50s.

Although I had a long and sometimes successful career in the entertainment business, lived in Beverly Hills , and ate very high off the hog at fancy restaurants, flew first class to fantastic places and enjoyed that life as any 25-year-old would do, today it is all gone.

There have been good times and bad times. I have made the right moves and the wrong moves. I don't beat myself up for the mistakes. It has always seemed to my 25-year-old mind that even the mistakes were made on the basis of the information I had at the time, or the needs, or the whatever. Water over the dam is not worth repenting.

For most of his life, this 25-year-old thought himself vital and relevant. However, in this era age is not venerated and old people are generally considered people who need to be helped rather than heard. The exception is if they are rich. I am flat broke. God knows I am still opinionated, but the feeling I get is that most people think I am a senescent seneschal, no longer useful to the people he served. Moreover, the signs of age are upon me that even the 25-year-old me has to recognize. Medically I am in excellent shape, my teeth are my own thank you, although the hair is certainly thinner. But arthritis, spinal stenosis and various nerve injuries keep me in constant pain. Walking is difficult. When it happens, I am bent over and listing somewhat to starboard. If I ever see another doctor it will be too soon.

The question then becomes, much as it appeared to Hamlet in his famous “to be or not to be” soliloquy, why continue? Why not avoid the constant pain and the disappointments of living by ending it all?

Unlike Hamlet, I don't fear some undiscovered country from which no traveler returns nor the dreams that may come. Rather there are three reasons, the last more compelling than the others.

The first is curiosity. My 92-year-old aunt used to give this as her reason for living. She read the papers every day and made it a point to stay current with the latest family developments. What would her grand nephews and nieces become? Who would they marry? Would they be happy?

I too have grandchildren and grand nephews and nieces whom I dearly love. I would like to know them when they become adults. That may be unlikely, yet it certainly keeps me interested. Besides, wouldn't it have been terrible to miss the amazing come back of the Red Sox against the Yankees, or Saucon's six in a row in football or miss their championship if it happens. And more important, who wouldn't want to know the results of the forthcoming election?

The second is the obligation to serve. Although I am not a religious man, I feel deeply the need to help the country that natured me. I am truly lucky to have been born in the United States , warts and all. And I am truly lucky to live in my community. I have a sense of place here that I never had elsewhere. My involvement in public affairs in this community has always been based on a sense of gratitude for the shelter it provided. As long as I maintain sanity, I feel it incumbent upon me to help the community as much as I can. It is probably 25-year-old arrogance speaking but that is the way I think.

The most important reason that keeps me alive is the love of a great woman. The one really wonderful thing that happened to me is that I rediscovered and married my true love seventeen years after I met her for the first time and then lost her. She is with me still, more beautiful to my 25-year-old mind than she was when I first met her, and certainly more caring. She refuses to let me feel sorry for myself. “You have a lovely house, a great dog, two affectionate pussy cats and me,” she says. “Isn't it enough?”

You bet it is. If I occasionally grump at her, it is the 76-year-old in me overtaking the 25-year-old. We older people don't suffer fools lightly and are often impatient and touchy, but to the extent we take it out on our spouses, we are the fools. There is a tendency to rail against age that makes us unpleasant. It takes a great woman to understand that, and she does. And then there is the miracle that although I am almost twenty years older than she is, she still loves me.

That is the best reason for living.