"Kids! I don't know what's wrong with these kids today."
"Kids," from Bye, Bye Birdie
Young people and I are strangers in the same country.
A report on an incident at the New Hampshire Statehouse last week.
I was standing in a crowded room at the desk of the New Hampshire Secretary of State, waiting for Vivek Ramaswami to show up, sign paperwork, and talk with journalists for an hour or so. I was surrounded by people and TV cameras on tripods. There were several young women crowded up against me in front of the desk where candidates sign. I asked about them. They were reporters, happy to identify themselves. There was no risk they would think I was hitting on them since I am way past that, utterly out of the game, and they know it. I was harmless. They called me “sir.”
The were in their mid-late 20s, all in their second or third jobs out of journalism schools, and their careers were doing well. One holding a TV camera on a tripod was a producer for ABC, another with the same gear was there to gather video for Fox News. A third, holding an I-phone, on which she could type rapidly with two thumbs, was from USA Today. A fourth held an I-phone to use as a microphone. She was from NH Public Broadcasting. They looked out through the crowded office into the hallway and were remarking among themselves that there were a hundred Ramaswamy supporters standing in the crowded hallway waiting for him to show up.
“Isn’t that crazy of them, out there in that stuffy hallway,” one said.
“Yeah, not smart like us,” I said. Of course, we were doing essentially what they were doing, standing in a stuffy office, waiting for Ramaswamy. I was making an allusion to the dialog in The Magnificent Seven where Yul Brenner said those famous words of self deprecation to Steve McQueen they observed a hanger-on to their group, riding behind them in heat and dust.
They stared at me blankly.
“You know, that line in The Magnificent Seven? Yul Brenner said it to Steve McQueen as they looked at that guy following them. In the movie."
More blank stares.
“You've heard of The Magnificent Seven?” “No”s from each of them.
“Da-DA, da-da-da, da-da-da-DA-da-da,” I sang, doing the movie’s musical score that Philip Morris repurposed for a decade of TV ads, linking Marlboro cigarettes with an iconic cowboy image. Everyone knew those ads, I thought.
Head shakes.
“You’ve heard of Yul Brenner?” Head shakes.
"Steve McQueen?" More head shakes. Blank stares.
I felt adrift. I wanted common ground. “You’ve heard of Richard Nixon?” They brightened and nodded.
“Yes, the former president. He resigned,” one said.
I needed to get my head around this. A classic movie like The Magnificent Seven, 1960, is as remote in time as 1904 was to me when I entered college in 1967 -- 63 years prior. The Model T would not be introduced for another four years. There wouldn’t be talking movies for another 25 years.
But at least there was some shared culture overlap. Reporters on a presidential campaign beat had heard of Richard Nixon. I needed to remember, though, that Nixon’s election in 1968 is as remote in time as Woodrow Wilson’s election was to me back in 1967 when I entered college, registered for the draft, and thought of myself as a young adult. Wilson was an historical figure I had read about; a sour-puss-looking guy in a tight collar who favored the League of Nations, a blatant racist, a Democrat who got elected by a third-party fluke, and who got sick and hid it with his wife's help. That was most of what I knew. I had read about him in books.
I stood there in the crowded office, waiting for Ramaswamy to come in and talk a mile-a-minute and say he is like Trump but younger and with "fresh legs."
My mind wasn't on Ramaswamy. It was young people generally. The interaction with the young reporters brought home the obvious, that we are are strangers living in the same world. The Magnificent Seven, the Marlboro cowboy ads, Yul Brenner, and Richard Nixon were part of my life. For them, it is history, if they know it at all. Cigarette ads on TV ended in 1970, twenty-something years before they were born.
The young women called me “sir” because they are being polite to a doddering visitor from a distant country.
Yep, quite the shock. I am a volunteer at SOU working along side college students. Fortunately, they are anthropology or history students usually OK with a historical anecdote from the woman as old as their grandmother. A reminder was “does anyone remember Kennewick Man?” They are our future and I am comforted being in their presence. Thank you for today’s perspective. I am envying your trip!
Don’t age yourself too much, Peter. You entered college “only“ 56 years ago.