"Heroes are often treated as gods,
seemingly immortal to the young eyes
which behold them.
But there is no more devastating moment
when those same gods have aged;
and those no-longer young eyes can see
that they who were once thought immortal
were mortal all along."
--Ralph F. Couey
Copyright © 2021
by Ralph F. Couey
Growing up, I had heroes, like everyone else. And like most other boys, they were athletes, mainly because they were on TV all the time, and that was the window through which I viewed the world. I related before about my brief face-to-face with Mickey Mantle, and how much power that moment had, and still has for me. I still remember Saturdays on NBC, watching Koufax, Drysdale, Mantle, Mays, McCovey, Colavito, Yastrzemski, and all the others who were living my dreams. In their prime, they were tremendous athletes, seemingly capable of all kinds of heroics at the drop of a hat.
But time exacts a price. People get old, muscles get weak, minds become weak, injuries refuse to heal. We still see them on occasion, showing up at old-timers games, or ceremonial occasions. It is always a shock to see what age has done to them.
A number of years ago, an old-timers game was played before one of the All Star games. All the old heroes were there, gimpy, wrinkly, some showing a gut where once was a flat belly. J. R. Richard had been a fireballing pitcher for the old Houston Astros, a man with blazing speed and pinpoint control. During this contest, he came out to the mound for his half-inning -- and couldn't get the ball to the plate. Pitch after pitch looped in and dropped on the grass in front of the hitter. It was so sad to watch. On another occasion in Houston, former running back Earl Campbell was to be honored. Now, Earl had been a player of recent vintage, at least to my perspective. He was a powerful man, an intimidating runner with absolutely the largest and strongest legs I've ever seen on a human being. His name was announced and the crowd came to their feet. Here came Earl Campbell.
In a wheelchair.
We want to think that our heroes will never age, will always be the same as we remembered them. But this is not realistic, particularly for those of us whose best years lay behind us.
I read a lot of history, and am intrigued by the accounts of great people who accomplished incredible things. The older accounts of people who lived before the camera was invented, are decorated with oil paintings, which after all are an expression of the artist's impressions. The portraits of George Washington, for example, don't differ a lot from early on through the Revolution. It is in the presidential portraits where we see the impact of the years.
Cameras, for the most part, are true witnesses, capturing faces, expressions, perhaps the person's gait. The advent of moving pictures were even more expressive. One of my favorites was a clip of Theodore Roosevelt giving a speech. While a bit scratchy and blurred, it nonetheless captures Roosevelt in his characteristic style, preserving the man's incredible energy and force of personality. It is things like this that allow us a look into the past, to appreciate the greatness of another time.
I read with fascination how these people were born, grew from childhood into adolescence and adulthood. The path they traveled is littered with the early mistakes of youth, but it is a path that leads to the famous people we think about, forever in their prime.
But everyone grows old. You can watch early film of Mantle from the 1950's, showing his blazing speed and incredible power, and then those clips from his last year, 1968, when his legs could barely carry him around the bases. It is sad to see, but what can also be seen is that the drive that propelled him and others to excellence remained undiminished by time, trying desperately to command an aging body to do things of which it was no longer capable.
Dick Clark was paraded out every New Year's Eve by CBS until his dementia provoked only sorrow and sadness. It was a cruel thing to do to a man who had been gifted with so much energy in his youth. And on it goes. Late at night, we can watch aged rock and rollers from the 60's and 70's hawking recordings from their era. Their appearance shows the impact of not only the years, but the mileage. Rather than provoking nostalgia and warm memories, for me it only reminds me of how many years I've stacked up myself.
In 1970, Neil Diamond recorded a song entitled "Done Too Soon." The song started out at a fast pace, running out a list of famous people from history, beginning with Jesus Christ and ending with Buster Keaton. It's an interesting song with a catchy tune, and I remember leaning closer to the radio, tuned to Kansas City's only rock n' roll station WHB, to try to catch all those names as they were spit out at almost machine gun speed. Then suddenly, the song slows, and Diamond sings this:
"And each one there,
has one thing shared...
They have sweated beneath the same sun
Looked up in wonder at the same moon
And wept when it was all done
For being done too soon."
It is the stark truth that no matter how great, or important, or impactful a person has been, in the end they will not escape time. They shared our planet, our times, our lives, but despite whatever we may think of them, they were subject to the same toils in their work, but also shared with us the wonder of the universe. And, as Diamond writes, came to their end with the regret that there was too much to still be done. However old they were when the end found them, it was always too soon.
I think the lesson to be learned for us is to continue to contribute, to work, to create and influence, to teach and advise right up to the end. Waste not a single hour of any single day, because time will not give back even a second.
I've tried to appreciate the time I did have, and the things I did do, rather than mull over the regrets of missed opportunities. After all, the past is the past, and nothing can change it or bring it back for a do-over. As I wrote a few days ago, I find myself curiously at peace with myself, and where I'm at in life. Each day brings opportunities to do new things, or do old things in a new way. Each day means new chances, and a choice -- a promise -- to not take anything for granted.
I never knew my grandfathers, both having died before I was born. But I have spent time poring over their letters found in some incredible treasure cache, trying to understand what they were like, mainly, what it might have been to know them in their prime when, young, strong, and capable, they did their best work.
I haven't done anything to merit the notice of history, so I seriously doubt anyone will be digging into my past to understand me better. But, as I was thinking earlier this evening, I have spent the better part of 15 years pouring my heart out into this blog, some 821 posts in all. If anyone wanted to know me after I'm gone, I suppose this is the best place to make that acquaintance. The Internet never forgets, and with any luck, these writings will be here long after I am gone.
Someday, it will "all be done" for me, as well. I think I will face that moment with peace, knowing that I'd done everything I could do, given the limits of my talents and abilities. In the meantime, I will live what time I have left, and will not weep because the end was too soon.
Instead, I will take solace in the knowledge that my end, whenever that will take place, will be right on time.
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