Growing Older

By Beryl Darrah

This is a story about growing older.  It is not an autobiography, although it is autobiographical.  It is not a story about my life, although all of the things contained in these pages are things and events that were part of my life.  My name is Beryl Darrah, and I just celebrated ( or commemorated) my sixty-fifth birthday.  That officially makes me a senior citizen, and the passing of that day also no doubt bestows on me that mantle of wisdom that seems to surround everybody over that age, at least in their eyes.  And, I am one of the lucky ones.  In a few more years, the magic age will be sixty-seven, so I feel fortunate to have beat the “wisdom deadline” by two years.  I also feel fortunate to be able to retire at sixty-five and not be forced to work an extra two years in order to start enjoying the meager fruits of my labor.

After spending over two thirds of my life in the field of education and coming into contact with the “younger generation” on a daily basis,  I am increasingly aware that I have seen a lot of things, been a lot of places, and witnessed a lot of changes.  I could probably teach an entire history class which  covers just my life time and never run out of material to talk about.  And I am talking about material that took place before most of my students were even born-----and even before some of our teachers were born, for that matter.  It is strange to be talking about something which is so familiar to me, and then look at the person I am talking to and see the blank, lost look in his eyes.  Although it may seem like yesterday to me, it is ancient history to them.  

One day our secretary and I were talking about morality in government.  It probably had something to do with invading and occupying Iraq.  Or maybe it was about the recall of the California governor.  Who knows.  At any rate, the subject of Watergate and Nixon resigning as President of the United States came up.  Our music teacher, who was in the office at the time, was also a part of this conversation.  After we had both talked about the abuses of power during that era, we looked at him for his comment.  He looked down rather sheepishly and said, “I wasn’t even born yet.”

That may have been the point in my life when I started thinking about everything that has happened in the past six and a half decades: Of the revolutionary changes that have taken place in the lives of our country and its people.  Probably as we are living life day by day, we don’t stop to think of the impact that events, inventions, changes, and developments are having on our lives and our future.  They just sort of take place.  We read about them in the newspaper or hear about them on television.  We incorporate them into our daily lives without much fanfare or thought.  

It is sort of like seeing a person every day over a long period of time.  We really can’t or don’t see the changes that take place in that person,  because they are so subtle,  so normal,  so gradual.  We just sort of grow and change with them.   It is always a shocking and revealing experience to look at our school yearbooks from 15 or 20 or 30 years ago.   Cute little kids are now overweight and ugly.  Awkward, chubby kids are now graceful and good looking.  Sweet, docile kids are loud and opinionated adults.  Obnoxious trouble makers are now responsible and mature parents and citizens.  And that is just the kids.  It is perhaps even more interesting to look at the pictures of teachers with whom I have worked for the past  twenty or thirty years.    We have aged together.  The changes have been gradual and almost unnoticeable on a day to day basis.   It is sometimes rather shocking to look at pictures of these people when they were “young”.    Was this really the person that I worked with twenty five years ago?  And, speaking strictly for myself,  it can also be somewhat embarrassing.  I look at my old yearbook pictures from the first year that I taught.  I was young, skinny, long haired, no beard or moustache.  And it really doesn’t get any better as I progress through my curly hair phase.  Maybe that is because that is when I started gaining weight.

But, my point is----things change.  And sometimes a person has to be reminded of these changes,  either by a young music teacher or even by going back and looking at pictures.

I look at myself as a product of the 50’s and 60’s because that covers my junior high, high school, and college years.  And it also covers the years when I was “starting out” on my own.  My first job, the army, and my Vietnam days.   But I also spent my first twelve years of my life in the late thirties and the forties.   Those were my “unconscious” years,  lived in a state of abandon, oblivious to almost everything that did not affect my immediate daily life.  And that is the way it probably should have been.  

There are times that I wish I could be hypnotized (by somebody I trust completely)  so I could recall more about my early childhood.  I certainly didn’t keep a diary, heaven forbid!  Or tell myself, “I had better jot down some notes so I can remember all of this in sixty years.”  No, I just lived life day to day, rarely being concerned about what was going happen more than an hour in advance.  As long as I had my trusty six-shooter (a toy, to be sure!), my bicycle, or a ball of some kind, a few trees to climb---and somebody to play with, I was usually content.  Of course, we had to take time off to listen to our favorite radio shows.   The adventures and excitement of Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, Gene Autry,  Hopalong Cassidy, Sky King, Sergeant Preston.  The comedy of  Burns and Allen, Bob Hope, Amos and Andy, Our Miss Brooks,  Jack Benny.   And Saturday morning programs such as Archie, Blondie and Corliss Archer.  

The radio shows of the 1940’s and 50’s were written and presented as family entertainment.  They were wholesome and harmless.  Even the so-called “adult” shows such as The Shadow, True Detective Mysteries, Dragnet or The Green Hornet were basically non-violent.  Of course, a crime had been committed.  We often heard it being committed, but, being radio, never saw it being committed.  The purpose of the program was always to illustrate that “crime does not pay” and that the person who committed the crime will always be brought to justice in the end.   Crime or criminals were never glorified.  The hero was always the “good guy”---the cop or the sheriff or the marshal who apprehended the crook and brought him to justice.    And they always did.   The heroes were characters worthy of being emulated by kids and adults alike.  Rarely, if ever, was violence portrayed merely for the sake of violence.  

On Saturday afternoon many parents dropped their kids off at the local theater while they spent the afternoon shopping and visiting.   This was place where boys and girls could be entertained in a safe environment while the parents went about their business.   Not only was this a safe place physically, but it was also offered “safe”,  age-appropriate entertainment to keep them entertained and occupied.  The usual offering of cowboy movies and melodramas were not only exciting, but they also taught and reinforced a not-so-subtle message.  Crime is wrong.  The bad guys will always be caught and punished.  The good guys always win (and they are usually gracious in winning).

Actually, as I look back on these Saturday afternoon movies, I can recall very little violence.  Very few people were actually killed.  Usually somebody was shot in the arm or the leg.  Even the “bad guys” were rarely killed.  Roy or Gene or Hopalong (or whoever the good guy was) was always fast enough and skillful enough to shoot the gun out of their hands before they tied them up and took them off to jail.   The “good guys” were not so much interested in revenge, as they were justice.  

These were the years not so long after World War 2  and (a short time later) the Korean War had ended.  Maybe this pretty well symbolized the position of the United States in world affairs and the attitude of the American people toward American involvement in foreign involvement.  We had defeated the Nazis in Germany and a fascist dictatorship in Japan.  We were the “good guys”.  We entered the war to defend our friends and allies.  We fought to overcome and defeat the evil and destructive forces of wicked and immoral men.  We had no thought of territorial conquest or national gain.   Ours was a noble mission of restoring the peace.  Of bringing the “bad guys” to justice.  Of helping devastated nation back to normal again.

Such were the lesson gained on a Saturday afternoon at the movies:  Defend what is rightfully yours.  Protect the poor and less fortunate.  Stand up for your friends.  Make sure justice prevails.   Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you.  Help those who need it.  Follow the Golden Rule.

What a contrast from television and movies of today!

It would be difficult for me to pinpoint exactly where and when television and movies got totally “out of control”.    In today’s society movies and television programs without the obligatory scenes of gratuitous sex and/or violence are doomed to failure.  They seem to be expected and even demanded by the general public as a prerequisite for success.   Movies that today are rated PG-13 would never have been allowed in theaters in the forties and fifties, let alone be shown on prime time television.  

The this is a symptom of today’s society:  the content of our movies and TV programs seems to mirror society in general.  Everywhere from the pulpit to pundits,  sex and violence in the various entertainment media is denounced.  PTA and parent groups demand investigations into the movie and TV industry----but yet they go home and turn on the same TV programs and go to the theater and watch the same movies they are denouncing.  

The moguls who control the movie and TV industry are not stupid.  They know what sells; they know what programs people like to watch;  they know what people like.  And they aim to please.  These people are bright enough to know that as long as ten of millions of  people tolerate, if not outright demand, sex and violence as their preferred subject of entertainment no laws or regulations are going to be enacted to prevent it.  They know that politicians rarely support laws which may result in their defeat at the next election.

The question continues to be asked, and the issue continues to be raised:  Does sex and violence on TV and in the movies have any correlation to the amount and degree of violence in our society?  Is their a cause and effect relationship?  It depends, I suppose,  on which study a person chooses to believe.   

But, in my opinion, there is very little doubt that the people of the United States of America are dangerously tolerant, if not actually addicted, to watching violence as a pastime and as an acceptable and preferred form of entertainment.   Consider the tragedy at Columbine High School a few years ago.  When the news hit the TV airwaves, the people were shocked, outraged, angry.  The people demanded to know why this had happened.  What had gone wrong?  How can it be prevented?  But, it wasn’t long before movies were being made about this subject.  TV shows were being generated.  We were actually watching, and supposedly being entertained, by the very act of dreadful violence that we had so recently condemned.

How long will it be before we start making movies about the World Trade Center tragedy----or at least the same general concept?   We have already taken almost every major news story involving a rape,  murder,  child molestation, sexual abuse, spousal abuse,  airplane crash, disastrous fire,  and kidnapping and have made it into some form of popular entertainment.

I suppose what I started out to say is that this is a major change that has taken place in our society in the past several years.    The wholesome family entertainment which was popular in the forties, fifties, and part of the sixties seems to be a thing of the past.  But, who knows, maybe there is a “pendulum theory” at work here, and maybe someday the pendulum will start to swing back the other direction.




Basically, many (or most) of the details of my childhood have long been forgotten, or at least shrouded in the thick mist of nostalgic fog.  But the details are not important anyway.  I can still remember many of the important things.