Being Seldom Seen Really Isn't So Bad

This blog is called the "Seldom Seen" blog because, well, no one knows anything about it. According to the visitor counter, I've had like six views in five years. That's not an altogether bad thing, by any stretch of the imagination. The wrong person sees this blog and it could ruin their day, maybe even a whole week. Fortunately my mother can't see it, unless she faked her death, which she might have done, just to get away (obviously it's not "too soon"). What if Joy Laughlin, now Joy Laughlin D'Avanzo happened to see this moronic blog? She's an old high school classmate of mine and if she ever saw it she would lose complete respect for me, if she had any to begin with, which seems unlikely.

I'm afraid some terrorist group is going to come along my blog while searching the internet. Some organization like Isis. They'll think those Americans are a bunch of numbskulls and they'll figure they can move right in. So yeah, being seldom seen isn't so bad. However for me it is therapeutic. I can practice both my typing and my spelling. I can talk about my long-ago past; as a young teenager I would ogle the girls in Playboy Magazines. I can yak about how clowns still kind of creep me out. I think I have mentioned in one of these blog entries that men's locker room benches are so unsanitary that I refuse to sit on one even if wearing a suit of armor. Point is; the blog does serve a purpose, just not a worthwhile one.

Doug Miller and Willis "Pillsie" Moore

 

Ordinary people rarely get any long-term recognition after they are forever gone. They are usually forgotten in short order by everyone but their families and friends. A few years back a guy died who I worked with for 20 years. His name was Doug Miller. He was an ordinary nice guy. There was talk about honoring him by putting his name on a bench outside the building. This was never going to be a granite statue in his honor. It was going to be just a simple brass plate with his name on it screwed to a bench. Still, it never happened. Those in charge of the project never got around to doing it. Now a few years later, there is a percentage of new employees that have never even heard of Doug Miller. I’m not mad about it. It’s just the way it is. People come and go, making way for yet another in an endless parade of generations. 

Recently my companion and I traveled to a corn festival in Strasburg, Ohio, located in a distant part of the state. We've been going to the same small town festival every year for nearly 20 years. A couple of times while en route we have taken a brief side trip for ice cream in the remote village of West Lafayette, Ohio. There on the property of the Dari Hut is a modest brick memorial to Willis “Pillsie” Moore. Part of the memorial is a showcase with photos of Willis and his wife, and a miniature, six inch baseball bat, just like the ones Willis would carve for kids.

See, Willis “Pillsie” Moore was the school custodian at the village elementary school from 1921 to 1956. He befriended many of the students. In his spare time he would carve the little baseball bats and give them away. But he gave other things away too, most notably; kindness. He would occasionally fix a broken bicycle, glue the binding of an old book, and generally lend a helping hand wherever he could.

Willis retired in 1956 but he remained in the village and died there in 1982. Through the years the citizens of West Lafayette did not forget the kindly school custodian. In 1993 they decided to erect a simple but proud monument next to the Dari Hut, the monument dedicated to Willis. It is on the site of the old elementary school. In 2003 Willis “Pillsie” Moore was voted into the town’s Hall of Fame, voted in for “humanitarian service” along with long-time area politicians and local athletes.

I like to visit the little memorial. It’s somehow reassuring that a person can be remembered for simply being a thoughtful, unselfish person. No earth-shaking political speech required, no great invention needed. 

It certainly isn't a brass plague on a bench, but Doug Miller did get mentioned in my silly blog. He deserves higher recogniton. Maybe a lot of us do. 

Avoiding Senior Citizen Embarrassment (by guest blogger Gus Newcomb)

My name is Gus Newcomb and I’m 76 years old. I've been divorced for 16 years; have three kids and five grandkids. I live alone in a decent townhouse apartment in Milwaukee. I am retired but I volunteer at a food bank, am a member at a golf club, have a number of friends, and generally try to keep busy. But I’m not getting any younger. There are times when I wake up with some pretty significant aches and pains. Sometimes I will awake and find something like a knee or perhaps my hand has swollen up. The other day the heel of my left foot was so sore that I could not put any weight on it. I don’t know why it was sore, I do not remember injuring it, I figure it must be that the heel is 76 years old and it’s getting kind of fatigued.

Gus Newcomb

Truth is, I carry a cellphone not so much to call anyone socially, or to receive calls, but just in case I have a sudden health issue and need to call someone for assistance. It’s kind of sad, really. I've always considered myself to be self-reliant. I’m still self-reliant I guess, but I’m no longer self-reliant without a safety net.

One of the oddest things about advancing age in my situation is that should I suddenly need hospitalization, requiring someone to enter my apartment; I don't want to have its contents embarrass me. Consequently, over the last year or so I have felt obliged to vacuum at least once a week. In fact, these days I feel it necessary to keep my sink and kitchen countertops free of debris. I rinse dirty dishes and put them straight into the automatic dishwasher. I now feel an obligation to neatly place my clothes on hangers rather than depositing them on the bedroom floor after wearing. Just in case I’m hospitalized for a few weeks and someone needs to turn on my computer to pay a bill, I no longer keep photos of women on the hard drive. In fact, I have made it a habit to clear the internet history every so often, just in case the wrong person gets curious should I not be around. And now that I'm older I have gotten into the habit of wearing holeless socks and clean underwear. I'd hate to be rushed to the hospital in an ambulance and have some pretty nurse pull down my trousers and find I am sporting stained underwear. That would be the ultimate old guy embarrassment. We elderly dudes might be ancient and creaky, but we're not dead.