I Am the Old Man

I Am the Old Man
Going a Lone Highway

I have written many essays about the curse that I felt due to attending school in Mt. Lebanon. In every article that I have ever written about moving from Pennsauken, NJ to Mt. Lebanon, PA, I mentioned the two things that I learned in the 19th best school system in the United States. I was dumb and poor.

That is only partially true. There was another item about which I also didn’t like, which was memorizing poetry or prose in English classes while in high school. Each semester, I had to memorized 100-lines of poetry or prose. I didn’t enjoy coming to school early or staying late to stand before my English teacher and recite flawlessly what I had picked to memorize.

It took me half my life to realize that the first two curses of feeling dumb and poor were actually blessings. Nonetheless, my dislike about memorizing prose or poetry quickly changed. When I entered the real world, a day doesn’t go by when I don’t remember some verse and/or use them in writing or teaching.

I wonder if anyone in my graduating class of 1961 can recall more lines than I can today. I really doubt it. This is an example, The Bridge Builder by Will Allen Dromgoole. Her poem wasn’t in my American literature book, but it was in my baby book. We could pick what prose or poetry we wished to recite, and one of my choices was The Bridge Builder. Six decades ago, I stood in front of Mrs. Davis and recited that poem.

In my journey down my yellow brick road of life, I have had many old men and women building bridges for me, which have allowed me to get to the place where I am today.

The bridge

The Bridge Builder

An old man going a lone highway
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.

"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim, near,
"You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again will pass this way;
You've crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?"
The builder lifted his old gray head:
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him."

Back in the day when I was a fair-haired youth, I didn’t know that I would become that old man going a lone highway. However, I have. And what a blessing it has been. I can identify with the old man in the poem. I have lucked out many times in my long life. I have had two dances prior to COVID-19. I get it in my gut that I need to help the younger generation.

Bobby Kennedy was the single most important mentor in my life. I owe Bobby a great deal. Much of who I am today is based upon his example. This is a quote from a speech he made on June 6, 1966 at the University of Cape Town, South Africa. This is part of that speech, which is called Ripple of Hope speech.

It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring those ripples build a current which can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.

What Bobby wrote in prose is the same message in the poem, The Bridge Builder. I’m 77 and still teaching. I don’t want any of my students making a mistake about themselves like I did many decades ago.

I have an idiosyncrasy. Well, I probably have more than one. Nonetheless, I am haunted until I can explain what I don’t understand about my personal life. My mind can’t stop my quest until I have the entire picture clearly in front of me. Having 80% of the reasons for some question doesn’t allow my mind to rest.

For example, over six years ago, I went to Myanmar in a long held desire of interviewing Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, who often is called The Lady. I failed. Nevertheless, Moh Moh, my tour guide, had to pick up some paperwork about where I was going and who my next tour guide would be. She mentioned that Ti Ti, her nine year old daughter, would be home on winter break. I was greeted by a cute child that wanted to play some games with me. That was the beginning my discovering my family. In the two subsequent trips, I realized my purpose in life during my twilight years. I became the “old man going a lone highway.” To be honest with you, many of my friends have questioned me like a fellow pilgrim questioned my predecessor.

"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim, near,
"You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again will pass this way;
You've crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?"

The builder lifted his old gray head:
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him."

One final thought, my only caveat is that I am building the bridge not for some fair-haired youth. I am building a bridge for my three granddaughters: Ti Ti, Snow, and Fatty.