Once Upon a Time

The other day, I read a newspaper story about  the great Vin Scully, who is enjoying Year One in retirement  after  67 years — 67! —  as the Voice of the Dodgers — and who is universally recognized as  the greatest baseball announcer ever.  With the Boys in Blue heading for another playoff run, a reporter asked Vinnie whether he’d come back and broadcast an inning or two. He said no, adding:  “Once upon a time comes around once.”

I’ve been pondering that recently during my morning meanderings through these lovely, historic old neighborhoods in Ames. More specifically, I’m trying to come to grips with — or at least get a better grip on — the undeniable fact that somehow I have drifted into  the autumn of my years.  In fact, it’s worse than that. I’m truly an old guy now  — one of those guys I used to look at and wonder why they were still hanging around, doing whatever they were doing.

What’s propelled my “old guy” thoughts in recent days is the loss of some old guys I knew. These guys were old, all right — so old that they were my age. I  attended Fresno High with a couple of them.  I lost track of them after graduation, but in recent years, through one door or another, became aware of them again.  And now, poof! They’re gone.

As stunning as it is to hear of the passing of someone I went to school with, it’s equally alarming to realize that many of the people I worked alongside in my early broadcasting days are also gone now. My first full-time news  job was at Channel 30 in Fresno, and while I was the youngest reporter there, everyone around me was pretty darn young as well. You may remember some of them: Roy Isom and Phil Norgaard — great reporters. Don Elliott — excellent weather guy. Gus Zernial — sports anchor.

They’re all gone now. And so are numerous other Channel 30 people you likely have not heard of, but who played incredibly important roles in getting and keeping that station and its “Action News” on the air. One of them — Mike Purl —  passed away just a few weeks ago. A great director. He was 70. Only 70.

I realize life is a series of losses, starting the moment you are born.  You will lose your parents.  You may lose siblings.  You may lose co-workers.  The longer you live, the more “people” you will lose.  I know, I know — it’s the nature of things, and it can’t be changed. But it’s painful and, at times, frightening (especially in the middle of the night, when you’re tossing and turning and thinking about things best left for daylight hours).

I walk around Ames every day.  It’s the safest and smartest place we’ve ever lived — and we’ve spent 35 years trying to “come back” after I foolishly gave up  a  job teaching journalism at Iowa State.  (We were young and dumb — what else can I say?)  So now, we’ve purchased a place here in the Old Town Historic District, and we plan to trek back and forth between Ames and the Central Coast of California for as many years as we can muster.

As I walk around these parts,  I can’t help but wish that I was younger and had more time to enjoy — truly enjoy — what this vibrant community has to offer.  I look at all these gorgeous tree-lined streets and the historic Queen Annes and Italianates and Colonial Revivals — and I grieve, in a sense, that I wasn’t able to grow up in this amazing town.  I also marvel at how well these homes — many of them built in the late 1800’s — have been kept up.  Their original owners are long gone, but the structures they put up live on, and do so in excellent shape.  Somehow that seems unfair.  Why can’t we be in excellent shape when we’re 120 or 130 years old?

I was strolling down the sidewalk on Clark Avenue on this cool, crystal-clear morning when a young mom and her toddler approached.   They were holding hands.  The little boy had the name “Jordan” lettered on the front of his striped shirt.  As we passed,  he looked up and said “hi.”  I said “hi” back, and he giggled.  So did his mom.  I envied both of them.  They’re both young, and they both live in Ames, and the whole world is still in front of them.

I encounter plenty of squirrels and rabbits during my walks in these neighborhoods.   They love all the greenery and plants, and they’re as much a part of Old Town as the residents.    I enjoy seeing them, and I try to be friendly and reassuring, but they always scamper away as I approach. They don’t understand that I would never harm them — they’re just playing it safe, and wisely so.  But I wonder if they know — or somehow sense —  how evanescent their lives are. I feel sorry that they  have only a few years to live and breathe and eat, and I hope those years bring them, in some way, satisfaction and perhaps even joy.  Can squirrels and rabbits feel joy?

I haven’t spent much time watching TV since I’ve been in Ames — there are far too many other ways to spend my time more productively.  However, when I do watch, I’m generally tuning to those cable channels that feature old-time shows from the ’50s or ’60s.  For example, last night, I was delighted to discover a “Laugh-In” show, and, indeed, I was laughing out loud at the antics of Dan and Dick and their remarkable ensemble of wackos.  And who could have possibly guessed that their guest star — William Conrad — could be so funny?  After all, he was legendary for his dramatic work — as Matt Dillon on CBS Radio’s “Gunsmoke” and as Cannon on that CBS-TV entry of the same name.

After “Laugh In,” I clicked to another oldies channel and watched Johnny Carson’s monologue from his iconic “Tonight Show.”  And if I’d stayed up just a bit longer, I could have watched Raymond Burr as “Perry Mason” or one of the great “Westinghouse Studio One” dramas — performed “live” back in the ’50s and rerun now as yet another reminder of how good TV could be back then and of how far it’s fallen since.

And my current fetish for “comfort”  TV is matched by my choice of reading material since I’ve been in Ames.  So far, I’ve read one book detailing the “late night” TV wars when Conan got the “Tonight Show” a few years ago — and kept it only a few months, at which point Jay Leno regained his rightful slot as host; another book (perhaps the definitive one) about David Letterman; a book about Leno; and a newly printed biography on Lowell Thomas.  If you don’t know who he is or why he’s important, you’re likely reading the wrong blog.

I’ve also read several sports books during my time here.  Two of them were about a couple of rather well-known golfers of the past named Arnie and Jack; the other was about the best baseball game ever pitched, the 16-inning masterpieces spun by the Braves’ Warrren Spahn and the Giants’ Juan Marichal at Candlestick Park one night more than a half-century ago.  That’s right — they both pitched complete games. And the crazy thing is, I remember that game — though it took place so very long ago. I did not listen to it, but I clearly recall reading about it in the next day’s paper.

Note that my book choices have no  “currency.”  I love politics and covered it for decades, but how many more books can I read about last year’s terrible presidential election?  And what pleasure would I receive by reading someone’s rant (and they’re all rants) about how bad — or good — our current president is?  That’s not the way I want to spend these, my Golden Years.  I’d rather spend them reading about events and people who give me pleasure — not frazzled nerves or an upset stomach.  Yes, my reading choices are also “comfort food.”

Sharon and I have lived in Fresno much, but not all, of our lives — and soon enough, we will move away for good — to the Central Coast and to Ames.  It would be nice to be doing this and still be in our 40’s — but life, and careers, and raising children all have their say in such things.  Leaving Fresno will, in one way, be difficult because it will generate  more of “life’s losses” — among them, easy access to our friends there.  The truth is, some of them have already left or are departing soon.  But some will remain, and that includes folks we’ve known for 40 or 50 years.  As for our children, they  are adults, and they are both in California.  If they remain, we’ll see them during the six months or so each year we hope to spend on the Central Coast.  But if they don’t….

So, yes, I’ve had plenty on my mind these past few weeks, but what better place to have these high and mighty and scary thoughts than right here in Ames?  And I remain aware that — as delightful as Ames is — even here, there are no magic clocks that would allow me  to turn back time — my time.  As  that remarkable sage — Vin Scully — has taught:  “Once upon a time comes around once.”