Approximately once a month I receive an e-mail from a friend, casual acquaintance, or a family member who lives back East extolling the virtues and joys of life as it was back in “The Good Old Days.” We evidently had a life filled with food and other good things that were not anywhere near as expensive as they are today; we, according to the e-mails, were better people with higher standards of morality and behavior; and life was simpler and easier. The notes often end with the question, “Why can we not return to the idyllic life that was?”
I, for one, think that we can return to the simpler life that we experienced so many years ago. In order to place the return to a specific time frame, I choose to return to 1957. I selfishly choose that year because it was a dramatic year for me personally: I did my student teaching, then signed a contract to begin my professional career as a teacher ($4,450.00 per year, not per month); our first child was born; I bought my first new car; and, on the negative side of the ledger, my father died at age 60. So let us return to those halcyon days of yesteryear.
I will, of course, have to say a fond farewell to the computer upon which I am writing this prescription. I have yet to solve the problem of printing it if I do not use the computer. Of course, that will also mean no more Youtube late at night; no more, “I don’t know, but I’ll Google it;” no more e-mails (a mixed blessing which may save the Postal Service from bankruptcy); no more GPS (“Is that a left or right turn on Tice?”); no more “No, I did not save a hard copy, but I can find it in the memory;” and some folks will be all a-twitter at the thought of have to face a book made of paper once more.
Good-bye cell phone! (In my opinion this is one the three most insidious inventions of the human race.) Even our land lines will no longer have caller ID, and we will just have to guess at which charity, legitimate or not, is interrupting dinner. Without “Call Waiting” we will no longer have to choose between the President asking our advice about the Middle East or hearing about our grandson’s game-winning hit in Little League. (Sorry, Barak, but I’ll get back to you.) Remember also to get a long cord so you can go into the other room for private conversations.
There may be slight problem if you take any medication. Chances are whatever medicine we take was discovered, invented, or unearthed within the last five to twenty-five years, but we are headed for 1957. We certainly hope that no one will ever need surgery of any kind, but if you should, ’57 was not really a banner year. (One surgery that might have helped my father live past his 60 years in 1957 is the same surgery I had seventeen years ago. That too has since been supplanted by more modern techniques.)
On a more pleasant note, let’s take a peek at our 1957 television sets. We will be able to view CBS, NBC, ABC, the Mutual Network, and, if one lived in an urban setting, maybe two or three independents. These will, of course, be in black and white, on a small screen, and with no High-either-Fidelity-or-Definition. Should you wish to change the channel or volume, simply get up from the couch and turn the dial—what could be simpler.
Some of us will purchase new 1957 automobiles “loaded” with AM radio, heater, automatic transmission, and, if you are wealthy, maybe even air conditioning. Be careful of that steering column, however, it is a holdover from jousting days and is lethal in a head-on crash. Air bags? Are you serious? If you cannot afford air conditioning, simply roll down your window—the operational word there is “roll,” no buttons to push: Roll!
The environment? Safety? Comfort? Conveniences? Let us remember that there were no interstate highways then. We will need to change the oil every 1000 miles; tires will last as much as 20,000 miles. Our new 1957 model will, of course, have turn signals, but as we know, turn signals are, in Hamlet’s words, “More honored in the breach than in the observance.”
Should we decide that rather than driving, we will fly somewhere, those propeller driven planes will get us there—maybe a tad slower, and there are far fewer than in this ugly 21st Century. Cruise ships? Wow, you must really be wealthy.
And so, my fellow citizens, here is my prescription for returning to the “good old days” of 1957. This is all academic, of course, because a good portion of us are statistically long since deceased if we use 1957 as our standard. Maybe Charlie Dickens had the right idea in 1859 when he wrote:
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness . . . in short, the period was so far like the present that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. A TALE OF TWO CITIES
So here is my Rx: Take a large dose of 2015 four times daily—soon it too will be part of “the good old days.”
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