A Grand Celebration, Once Upon a Time

I live in Columbus, Ohio, home of The Ohio State University. Not surprising, I have been an Ohio State University football fan since before I can remember. Given that I am 67 years old, that would place the beginning of my fandom in the 1950s somewhere. I've never been a crazed fan, but I've always been a fan.

The Team won their game today against Michigan, their archrival. They were not favored but they won handily 62-39. They may have a shot at playing for the national title.

This reminds me a lot of the 1968 season. I was a high school senior then. They beat #1 ranked Purdue earlier in the season and if they beat Michigan, they would be ranked #1 and as I recall, be in line for the national title.

When they defeated Michigan that Saturday afternoon in 1968, I went down on campus to what I figured would be a massive celebration. A pretty good celebration broke out after the Purdue game so I figured the Michigan celebration would be that much better. The Ohio State campus is situated on High Street, which is a four lane, high traffic street. For about a half mile one side of the street is the campus, the other side consists of various eateries and bars. That's the way it is now and that's pretty much the way it was then.

It was a great celebration in 1968. High Street was flooded with students and revelry. They closed the street to traffic. Kids were sharing alcoholic beverages. I was spontaneously kissed by a pretty girl or two and maybe one or two more that weren't so pretty. I didn't care. I received piggyback rides from strangers and sang the team song, Hang On Sloopy, in unison with other intoxicated kids I had never seen before and would never see again. I was 17 years old, drinking Colt 45 Malt Liquor, among other beverages and was in the middle of the biggest mass party in the history of The Ohio State University.

That was 50 years ago. In fact, it was 50 years ago the day before the publishing of this blog entry. I went down to the shindig with two high school classmates. One of them I now see only every 5 years at class reunions. The other one died a few years ago. I had seen him only about 2 or 3 times in the last 30 years.

This evening I drove down to High Street on campus, to the site of that grand celebration 5 decades ago. It was purely a case of sentimentality, of "old times' sake", with perhaps a dash of simple curiousity. This time around High Street was not blocked off to traffic. Students were walking down the sidewalks. There seemed to be a fair number of kids out and about but I didn't see any overt celebrating. It is probably best that everything was under control, but I can't help thinking that they are missing out. That was one helluva party in 1968. I should know, I was definitely there.

What Roosevelt's 1914 Brazilian Expedition Taught Me

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I just watch a two hour PBS presentation on Teddy Roosevelt's expedition into the Brazilian jungle. Theodore Roosevelt was an ex-president who was a big game hunter in Africa. An expedition into the jungle would seem to be right up his alley. But it took something like three months and it was far more difficult then anyone expected. Three people in the party died. Teddy Roosevelt himself almost perished. He was never the same afterwards and he died about five years later.

Some of the media of the day thought it was just a kind of combination publicity stunt/ego boost conceived by Roosevelt to get attention and that there was no actual benefits to the expedition. When I gave it some thought, that was pretty much my opinion on it. There was really no good reason to go into the South American jungle. In reality, very little was learned, scant little was accomplished.

I got to thinking about the differences of a 1914 Brazilian jungle expedition as opposed to the American expedition to the moon in the 1960s. The lunar landing did not really have any benefits, strictly speaking. We knew most everything about the moon without actually setting foot on it. The difference between the two expeditions is that a whole lot of stuff had to be developed before we could fly to the moon. Propulsion systems had to be made, primitive computers (by today's standards) had to be built and utilized and many other scientific and technological advances had to be conceived. The Roosevelt expedition into the jungle required no such technological progress. The canoes used were no different than ones used thousands of years earlier.

It is kind of a cruel way of putting it, but if Teddy Roosevelt would have stayed home, three men would not have died and unless he was a masochist, Roosevelt would have had a more enjoyable three months of his life and very possibly, a longer life overall.

Here is what can be learned at the individual level... don't climb to the top of Mt. Everest and don't hike across Death Valley in the summer. You will be miserable. It might even kill you. And there is nothing to be gained. If there is some psychological need to do such things, the trip that should be made is to a therapist.

Fun Without Accomplishment

There is an infinite number of types of people. But there are people who are always looking to accomplish things, and then there are people who don't worry about such things. In that strict sense, there are only two types of people. I am the latter of the two. I am retired now but when I wake up in the morning, I put no demands on myself to accomplish anything. I don't think about mowing the lawn, or painting a room, or writing a blog entry. I suppose if I have a goal day in and day out, it is to find amusement. But then, that has always been the case. 

I blame this attitude on my being a poor student. I could not have been a good one. I had below average scholastic aptitude. I knew by the time I was 14 that there was never going to be a college education. I was not going to be a neurosurgeon, or a archaeologist, or a university professor. I was going to drive a bus, or sell furniture, or be a plumber. Something like that would be my source of income, none of them could be my life's interest. Those occupations simply are not interesting. They are chosen based on income and availability, not because of some life's interest. 

I did my best driving a delivery truck, and I was not ashamed of doing it, but it was not what I proclaimed I wanted to be when I was asked at age 8 "what do you want to be when you grow up?" 

I have gone through my life with the single goal of entertaining myself and hopefully, being at least a somewhat enjoyable person to those who I encountered. Usually I entertained myself with humorous and even silly observations concerning my world. Once in a while the self-entertainment has come in the form of something more philosophical than outright funny. With the absence of a meaningful career, self-entertainment has been the driving force in my life. 

I am not alone in this life situation, of course. Not many barbers or dentist receptionists had those occupations in mind for their dream job. In some ways it is too bad, though most people find meaning and purpose in their daily lives regardless of occupation. As for myself, I may not accomplish much, strictly speaking, but I have fun doing it, and that has been enough.

Mr. St. Clair And The Neighborhood Boy

One summer afternoon in 1959 when I was about 8 years old I was in a the backyard of a neighborhood kid, Charlie St. Clair. We got into a game of tag. There were bedsheets hanging from the backyard clothes line and we started chasing each other through the sheets. Charlie's mother came out and angrily shouted at us to get away from the sheets. A few minutes later, a bit perturbed, I calmly referred to Mrs. St. Clair as a "slob" to another kid. Mrs. St. Clair either overheard what I had said through an open window, or Charlie told her. I did not know exactly what a slob was. I had jokingly been called a slob earlier that day by a neighbor kid for wearing untied sneakers. 

Later that day, or perhaps a day later, I was once again in or near the St. Clair property. Mr. St. Clair came out and called me over. Not suspecting any trouble, I did as requested. Well, Mr. St. Clair hotly snagged me by the arm and pulled me into the house. He forced me down several steps leading to the basement and there ironing some clothes was Mrs. St. Clair. Mr. St. Clair then said to me, "Well, don't you have something to say to my wife?" I didn't know what he was talking about, but at that moment I was sacred to death. I remember that by the time I was there on those steps, I had wet my pants out of abject fright. When I didn't respond, Mr. St. Clair hotly asked me, "Did you or did you not call my wife a slob?" I must have said that I did. He then informed me that I was to apologize. I must have muttered out an apology. Mr. St. Clair then smiled and said, "Now, don't you feel better for saying you're sorry?" He then led me out the door and to safety. 

That was 1959. Obviously I've never forgotten it. I was a little boy who like a lot of kids, can say silly things. To this day the incident makes me angry. I'm not sure, but if the internet existed in 1975, I am not certain that I wouldn't have used the Net to look up the whereabouts of Mr. St. Clair. It probably wouldn't have been a good idea, but back in 1975 I was 24 and just might have done it. I wouldn't have physically injured the man. I probably would have done something to him similar to what he had done to me. I might have taken a photo of myself at age 8 and forced Mr. St. Clair to apologize to it.

Point of all this is, I consider myself a rational, relatively calm person. I was fairly rational in 1975. Yet I might have considered retaliation for a single incident that occured many years earlier in my childhood. Sometimes I find myself, albeit my past self, a little scary. But I also make it a point to treat little kids decently and keep in mind that they are, after all, kids. 

Today there is the internet, and for the record, Mr. St. Clair died a couple years ago, best I can determine through a half hour internet search. Mrs. St. Clair is alive and in her 80s.