For better or worse, it is my belief, or conviction, that in times past, folk singers were the essayists of the day. There was a time when universal literacy was only a dream among educators. For example, when my ancestors left Ireland during the Famine which started in 1845, they were farmers who did not achieve even basic literacy until they reached this country. People with limited – or no education, could memorize folk songs which often contained a kernel of truth and were often a source of amusement. My maternal grandmother, loved to sing “Buffalo Gal” – “with a hole in her stocking, and her knees kept a knocking and her heels kept a rocking.” She and her children considered “Buffalo Gal” great fun. But in a minor key, she also sang songs of starvation, hangings, unfair confinement in jails and death.
One of the folk songs that has stuck with me for many years is “Waggoner’s Lad.” It is likely a song that originated here. There are those who contend that the song has Irish roots. Don’t be put off by the two “g’s” because some years ago, even the British spelled wagon with two g’s.
The song is about a young man or lad, driving a wagon who spurns the invitation of a young woman to “sit down beside me for as long as you may.”
The first line of the first verse is one that gives pause. It says:

“Hard luck is the fortune of all woman kind.”

My humanitarian instincts are to deal with this inherent unfairness to females. On the other hand, it is also my intention to write a piece having to do with one of my fortunes in life. This is where the “It’s No Big Deal” is found.
For virtually all my life, my fortune has exposed me to soldiers and sailors. It was my fortune to meet them when they were young. They did not limp and their bodies were erect. Now that these young men have become ancient, it is my happy fortune to know them still. The vast bulk of the men known to me were enlisted men who did the heavy lifting and bore the brunt of war. One of my close friends was an Army Major, but he is excused on the grounds that he originally came from Missouri. Those are pretty flimsy and feeble grounds, but it is the best we have. So it will have to do.
During my teenage years in the 1930’s, several World War I soldiers were known to me including my four uncles. All of those men have now left the scene by this time due to advanced age. The men who served in World War II are now in their late 70’s or more likely in the their 80’s. The Korean War veterans are now in their 70’s. The people who served in Vietnam are now in their 60’s.
Advancing age has not dimmed their candor. As young men, they had few ailments to report. In those days, the military did not encourage enlisted men to report their disabilities. The military services were quick to suspect coddling, so men largely kept quiet.
Now that all of us have advanced into our senior years, when asked about their health, almost all will reply honestly. They may say, “I use a cane now” or “My hearing is poor from working on an aircraft carrier flight deck.” Others may say, “My eyes ain’t what they used to be” or “The cardiologist is helping me with my work.” But in an instant, these old geezers will follow recitation of their ailments, with the firm admonition, “It’s no big deal.” That admonition gives me pleasure and inspiration. These are my kind of men.
As a soldier, a wounded man would say, “I’ll be all right. It’s no big deal.” Malaria sufferers who had lost their sense of equilibrium from administration of quinine would mumble that it wasn’t such a big deal. They would say, “I’ll be okay soon.” There was a time when it was my fortune to fly support for the British Eighth Army in Italy on the Adriatic side. The Eighth was called a “polyglot army” because it included soldiers who had left their homes in France, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Norway and Denmark and other places. Of course, the Eighth was officered by the English and included many English, Scotch and Irish troops. When those men were hurt, they would often refuse to acknowledge their disablement and would say in effect, “I can deal with it.” My admiration for the men of the Eighth Army is unlimited. When the 8th Army guys were hurt, they would say, “carry on,” which translates to, “It’s no big deal.”
Even Ray Charles, the entertainer, told Ed Bradley of 60 Minutes that his blindness which had afflicted him from early childhood was not a big impediment. My recollection is that Ray Charles told Bradley that the inability to see was “only 1% of living.” My estimate of blindness as it relates to daily living is that it is a lot more than 1%, but maybe Ray Charles who fathered 12 children by either seven or nine women may have known something that the rest of us don’t know. In any case, Ray joined the chorus when he told Ed Bradley, “It’s no big deal.” This one-eyed essayist demurs.
All of this comes to mind largely because of Cal Tuggle, who was just appointed Ambassador Extraordinaire to the world from Yulee, Florida. Cal is well know to AT&T Overseas employees, having worked at #5 World Trade Center, 195 Broadway and Bedminster. He and Kathleen live in Florida now that Cal has survived the Korean War and AT&T.
Cal fully subscribes to the doctrine of “It’s no big deal.” But in the manner of old soldiers, he occasionally lists his complaints which make me want to call an organic Florida undertaker for him. Then, of course, he says that he can handle everything.
Last December, Cal said he had cataracts removed and some other unpleasant medical procedures. His message ended with his plans for breast implants and a vasectomy. Tuggle got no sympathy from me. Cal was told to have the breast implants arranged one on top of the other rather than side to side. In effect, old Tuggle was told that there would be no sympathy from this corner until he had an eight cylinder hysterectomy. Now that would be a big deal.
In March, old soldier Calvin, when questioned, gave us this report on his state of being. He said:

“I’m like a car with 100,000 miles, body about worn out, one headlight repaired and the other needs replacing, sometimes the engine runs okay, at other times it sputters and runs fast, both shock absorbers squeak. Lots of time in the repair shop.”

One would think old Cal was on his last leg after reading the March message. But it can’t be such a big deal as he is going to Germany “for several weeks” to visit one of his daughters and her family.
Again Cal got no sympathy from this quarter as he was told to look for Erhardt, Gunter and Otto who served in the German Luftwaffe during WWII. Cal is authorized to apologize for me. It is my fault for getting my posterior in front of their guns. Knowing Tuggle, he will forget his lines and try to sell them some of his Florida real estate.
The point is that it is a lot better to joke about our age related ailments than it is to mourn. It has been my great fortune to have known soldiers and sailors who were exposed to all sorts of danger and who now say, “It was no big deal.” It was a pleasure to have known them when they were young. And now, it is an honor to know them in the twilight of their lives. My guess is that when it is their time to go, they will say, “Hey man, it’s no big deal.”
E. E. CARR
March 13, 2005
Post Script: The “Waggoner’s Lad” at the front end of this essay is a sobering song. Two verses will make my point.

“Hard luck is the fortune of all womenkind,
They’re always controlled, they’re always confined,
Controlled by their parents until they are wives,
And slaves to their husbands for the rest of their lives.”
When the maid attempts to hold on to the “Waggoner’s Lad,” it leads to a rebuff:
“Your horses are hungry, go feed them some hay,
Come sit down beside me as long as you may,
My horses ain’t hungry, they won’t eat your hay,
So fare the well darling, I’ll be on my way.”

If this song has any ancient Irish roots, it may possibly justify an epigram attributed to an English author, G. K. Chesterton. The epigram holds:

“The great Gaels of Ireland,
Are the men that God made mad,
For all their wars are merry,
And all their songs are sad.”

The “Waggoner’s Lad” is indeed, a sad song. In this one case, Chesterton may have been on to something.
~~~
Solid Carr combo on display here, in the form of war stuff plus depressing Irish music. With the exception of the latter, it had a good overall message about being chipper in the face of adversity, and the mental image of an eight-cylinder hysterectomy was a nice bonus. Do you ever encounter a phrase that you can fully anticipate never hearing again? I think that one qualifies.