Historical personal and humor column by Tom Hoerr, March 1984. Original contemporary opinions retained.
We’ve changed. That’s “we” as in you and I.
As a nation, as a culture, we’ve changed quite a bit over the last ten or fifteen years.
Some of the changes are good. I mean, we would all agree that they are improvements to the quality of our life, and some of the changes aren’t so good. Positive or negative, We have changed. I’ll bet if you’re reading this between 8 a.m. and 10 p.m., you’re wearing a sweater.
The next time you’re in public, look around you and you’ll see a lot of sweaters. That’s neither good nor bad (unless you own stock in Puritan or Laclede Gas), it’s a fact of life. Sweaters, I suspect, like space heaters and herpes, are bound to be with us for some time. (At least the sweaters and space heaters will go away for a while when summer comes. Closely related (conceptually, that is) to the sweater issue is the price of gas and kind of car we drive. Friday I pulled into the neighborhood Sinclair station and was so elated that the cost per gallon was only in two digits, that I filled my VW to the top: “Ten dollars regular,” I said, and, with a tone of profligacy, “check the oil!” Now I knew that the old tank wouldn’t hold more than eight dollars at that price, but, just once, I wanted the automatic shut-off to work while the hose was in my tank. “It’ll only hold eight-twenty” was the reply of the young acne-collector. Ah, music to my ears! I used to drive a couch.
Well, it really wasn’t a couch, it was a 1973 Pontiac Granville.
But it felt like you were on a couch.
A big couch at that.
It was a great car for neighborhood parties, hauling cattle (those were some wild parties!), guzzling gas, and bluffing.
The car was an oaf, colored green and rust.
No one — I mean no one — would bluff this sucker at an intersection. “Big green” (as she was known affectionately at Ray’s Auto Shop) had a renegade quality to her; the other driver, upon entering an intersection and examining the size and condition of Big Green would surely come to the conclusion that I was the kind of person who wouldn’t carry auto insurance. That and Big Green’s bulk allowed her to rule intersections from Chippewa to Page. Alas, the Arabs did their thing and the Big Green and I parted ways. I now drive a diminutive blue bug and enter intersections timorously at best. You, too, probably drive a smaller car than you used to. You’re car is now smaller, gets better gas mileage, and resembles an oversized “kidde car” from the Highlands. Where, oh where, have all the automotive dinosaurs gone? (Actually, they’ve gone to Mexico where they’re doing fine, thank you, with shag rugs and plastic dogs that nod beneath the back window, but that’s another column.) Another change is how we treat death.
Not the death of loved ones, friends, or even acquaintances, but the deaths of “others.” I don’t like jargon, but I think the phrase “de-sensitized” applies to us all. Personally. I believe watching the carnage in Viet Nam over the dinner table each night did this to us. Somehow I feel that we’re a bit too callous when it comes to tragedy and suffering that doesn’t affect us personally. I’d argue that all such tragedy matters to each of us, but I think that’s a minority view. Disenchantment is the norm, too.
We no longer expect that the political process will solve all (any?) of our problems.
The unholy combination of Viet Nam and Richard Nixon did this to us, I think.
If television mirrors reality (that, in itself, is a sorry thought! compare today’s Mr. T. and yesterday’s Mr. Novak and you’ll understand what I mean. “Gilligan’s Island” has been urbanized and become “Dallas” (the real tragedy here is poor Gilligan; who ever thought that’ he’d grow up to become J. R. Ewing?).
If “you are what you eat,” we’ve changed from a nation of steers to a nation of greens and Lean Cuisines.
The law of “supply and demand” simply means that we want more of whatever is less. Centuries ago when food was scarce and manual labor was the norm, bovine Rubene’sque beauties were the “cat’s meow.” Go to the art museums , and look at how attractive women were portrayed in those days; today you’ll only see bodies like that in ads for extra-large panty-hose.
Now that food is plentiful and we’re a sedentary society, thin is in. That hasn’t changed in the past decade or so, but the food that’s promoted certainly is quite different than it used to be. Lean Cuisine, Weight Watchers, The Lettuce Leaf, and The Sunshine Inn are more the norm than even before. Given the law of supply and demand, future generations will probably esteem brawn and muscle and despise anything silicone. I’ll close this column as I began. I sit here, many Johnny Carsons past my deadline, beating on my trusty typewriter (no, not a word processor, not yet), surrounded by the three things that man needs to survive in a hostile world: his trusty dog, a good cigar, and a nearby space heater.
Originally published in The Paper, March 1984.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1984_03.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
