In the past two months Americans and, indeed, the rest of the civilized world have been troubled by the banking crisis as well as the collapse on Wall Street. Recent reports suggest that the banks are now turning a hefty profit and reading the stock tables will suggest that the stock market is recovering. From Mr. Obama and his economic team, we are told that there are some “green shoots” in the economy which should make all of us feel a small bit better. But all of these positive signs can not distract from my personal dilemma which has to do with the great subtraction crisis.
I have great faith in mathematics even though I am not skilled in its use. But here is the problem. What If we were to write down 2009, and directly under it with a minus sign, write 1922. Then a line should be drawn under these entries and subtraction should begin. Two from nine equals seven, so write the seven down and two from ten – we have to borrow a little number there – equals eight. No matter how it is done, the result is always 87. I have tried regular mathematics and arithmetic as well as algebra and trigonometry. I have even used long division and calculus. The answer always comes out to be 87. This is a crisis that the Obama team has failed to recognize thus far. But I suggest that it is my personal crisis nonetheless.
What is happening here is that on August 4th, I will have completed 87 years of living. My parents and my siblings have long since taken their leave of this vale of tears and presumably have now become angels. What accounts for my having hung around so long is a complete mystery. Perhaps it is due to the advice of an army corporal who advised me in the first days of basic training that I did not get paid to think. I got paid to do what I was told. So for more than 60 years, in accordance with the corporal’s advice, I have tried not to think too much.
My longevity may have its roots in the desire to live to the age of 100. In March of this year, when my Missouri friend Howard Davis turned 91, he proclaimed, “Only nine more years until I get to 100.” That is a magnificent attitude which I hope to emulate and which may account for my own longevity.
In the final analysis, it may have to do with the advice my mother Lillie gave to me on the day that I departed to enlist in the American Army. I have recorded this story before but I think that it bears repeating on an auspicious occasion such as my 87th birthday.
The two of us were standing on the driveway in front of our garage, prior to my taking a quarter mile walk to catch a streetcar, which would take me to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri. As mothers are wont to do, Lillie Carr advised me to not get hurt and to write her frequently. I promised to write her but on the other subject of not getting hurt, I pointed out that in this war we were going to be helped by the French, the Canadians, and the Poles, as well as the Czechs. Then, stupidly, I said that the British would be on our side as well. My mother was an Irish woman who ascribed most of the world’s ills to the British. She had no use for them in any shape or form. As soon as my words were uttered, my mother said to me, “Do you mean the English?” I knew that I had been had, so I simply shrugged my shoulders in the hope that that gesture would provide some sort of an answer. In fact it provided no answer at all. In response, my mother said to me, “In that case, son, you will have to do the best you can.” With this, she turned on her heel and walked back into the kitchen, and I knew that the interview was done.
The streetcar ride took more than two hours to go from our home in Richmond Heights, Missouri to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri. During that time, I questioned my sanity for having brought up the English. I don’t claim that I was a stellar soldier in the Second World War. But my mother’s advice about doing the best you can still rings in my ears as the 87th birthday approaches. There were times when I really didn’t do the best I could and I regret those instances. But in the end, I am still here, after a fashion, trying to hang on for the 100th birthday. If my Missouri comrade, who was also involved in World War II, made it, perhaps I can too. So in a few years, there will be another essay, perhaps, to let you know how things worked out. But in the meantime, we should all try to do the very best we can and we should not think too much, as the Corporal suggested. At my advanced age, that is about all that I can aspire to.
E. E. CARR
August 2, 2009
Essay 404
~~~
Kevin’s commentary: Fun fact — Pop is now as old as Mr. Davis was when this essay was written.
Other readers of the essay might like to know that he is just as full of BS now as he was as a sprightly 87-year-old, and lines like “I have tried not to think too much” still show up now and again.
I hope that reading this essay will remind Pop of the make-it-to-100 attitude that he held, and hopefully still holds. I know that things can be rough sometimes!