As Man Ages

Something for Which We Ought All Be Grateful

Professor

Several weeks ago, I pondered an upcoming college reunion, a reunion that as I sit and write today has ended and transformed into a series of warm and gauzy memories. I am inordinately blessed with the friends I made at UVA, and returning every five years to wallow about in past glory is sublime. That it was an incomparably beautiful central Virginia weekend only added to the majesty. Swept away as I was in the reverie, I nevertheless remembered the obligation I have to you—dear readers—an obligation I ignored this past Monday morning and for which you seriously ought to demand a refund.

Professor Larry Sabato

Sometime this past Saturday, probably just after sitting in on Professor Sabato’s lecture on the State of American Politics, I had an epiphany that I realized must comprise my very next essay here at The Conservative Wahoo. Watching Sabato got the wheels turning, but it was only after leaving the lecture and walking up the Lawn toward the Rotunda that the full weight of the epiphany landed. And that is, the graceful aging of a man is a wonder to behold, and it is something for which I am grateful as I discern it in other men.

This intergenerational inquiry began on Thursday afternoon when I arrived at Alumni Hall to check in and get my badge. Pulling up in a passing torrential rain, I entered a main reception area that was quite crowded with reunion-goers waiting out the storm provisioned by the food and libation provided. I am embarrassed to admit, I was a little disappointed at what I saw. Everywhere I looked, I saw older people. Not just older people, but OLD people. My class had after six reunions been shifted into the Seniors Bracket, and so we were the youngsters in a group that included ‘82, ‘77, ‘72 and all other classes who wished to be there, which is the perk great seniority brings. I say I was embarrassed because as the weekend went on, I would have the epiphany about which I am writing and I came to appreciate my surroundings more appropriately. I meandered through events both public and private for the rest of Thursday and all day Friday, and I couldn’t shake a real sense of discomfort, pretty much driven by the reality of the fact that I was….getting older. Of course I know this, my body reminds me of it every day. But the group I was now in drove it home.

Saturday morning was Professor Sabato’s lecture. He is a key figure in all this because when 18-year old Bryan showed up in Charlottesville in 1983, 30 Year old Larry Sabato was (I believe) an Associate Professor of Government with what was an already superb reputation as a teacher and scholar. He’d attended UVA, was a Rhodes Scholar, got his Doctorate from UVA and then went straight onto faculty. With the exception of the Rhodes, he’s been at UVA for 52 years. Kind of a dream life, I reckon. I never took Sabato’s class, but others I knew did, and they raved. In the intervening 39 years, Sabato has grown in stature and acclaim, and I have gotten to know him a little, mostly through Twitter and then from a nice reception he threw in his house during the last reunion. For the record, his house is on the Lawn, one of the prestigious residences reserved for Professors of note. Naturally.

Sabato was a WHIZ KID when I first knew of him. He showed up in the Cavalier Daily pretty much weekly with some insight into the American political scene, and he was so approachable to the undergraduate population because he was sorta like an older brother. But when I watched him on Saturday, there was no whiz kid on that stage. There was a man in full, a nearly 70 year old legend at the top of his game, holding the rapt attention of those in the auditorium, even those who disagreed with him. Don’t get me wrong—the man is still passionate and excitable—but there is wisdom, maturity, and discernment oozing from his being. I watched and listened, and I was grateful for how the 39 years had forged him. As I left the venue, I thought of someone else I’ve spent the last 39 years watching.

Movie Star

Tom Cruise in “Taps”

The summer before I left for Charlottesville, a new movie was all the rage, and it starred Tom Cruise, who I’d known at that point only from his role in “Taps”, which is very under-rated movie if I do say so myself. Cruise was three or so years older than I at the time, and clearly the movie was aimed at my demographic. I love that movie, and in it, you get to see some of the flashes of brilliance that he would develop throughout his career. There are also some great lines (“That was just bullshit, Joel”). A few years later, Tom Cruise MOVIE STAR was born when TOP GUN premiered, and it was a vehicle in which everything about a man in his 20’s is showcased, the good and the bad. The ridiculous levels of testosterone that dominate the dialogue of what was a decent, exciting movie were well known to a lad of 21, who may very well have on occasion acted similarly.

I mention Cruise because I saw the new Top Gun movie last week—a far better movie than the first one and destined to be no less of a cultural phenomenon. But perhaps as a preview of this weekend’s epiphany, Catherine and I were both taken by how much more we liked THIS Maverick than the one of 1986. Life has taken the piss out of him. He’s seen combat. He’s loved and lost. He’s succeeded and failed. He and his age appropriate (and gorgeous) love interest (Jennifer Connelly) act like adults together, and reconcile their feelings for each other in a way that is maybe easier for someone whose had their pride busted a few times. The rough edges are a bit rounded, and Maverick appears to get people on a better level than he did as a Lieutenant. Don’t get me wrong. He still feels the need for speed. He still steals a Navy jet. But there is a growth and a wisdom in him that serves as an interesting bookend to the 1983 and 1986 Tom Cruise. I’m not sure if what we saw was skilled acting, skilled direction, or just what we get from Cruise these days (or a combination), but what we got was a man in full, a 59 year old legend at the top of his game, holding the rapt attention of everyone in that theater.

I thought about Tom Cruise as I left Professor Sabato’s lecture, and then I thought about some people I know personally.

Random Admirals and UVA Friends

My generation of naval officers are coming into their kingdoms these days. I have shipmates, personal friends, and subordinates wearing 4, 3, 2, and 1 stars. When I am in their presence, I am so grateful for their continuing service and for the Navy that recognized their talent enough to promote them to their jobs. Their experience, judgment, wisdom, and depth is something that all Americans should appreciate. But…I need to let you in on a little secret. I saw these men when they were in their 20’s. I saw them when they weren’t fully formed. I saw them when they weren’t men in full (the two female admirals I am close friends with were both as they are now, then. This essay is not about the maturation of women, because it is a subject I have not thought deeply about. But to the extent that I apply this process to these two women, all I can say is that they didn’t need to mature, they were the real deal at 25 and 30). I drank with these guys at Chicks Beach Café on Friday afternoons, and at Town Point Park on Wednesdays. I deployed to exotic ports of call with them, I bitched on the after-missile deck with them. They are no longer those men. Well, they are, but they are so much more. They are deeply responsible, incredibly thoughtful, ridiculously competent, and utterly mature men who grew up in the Navy, at least as adults.

A good number of my UVA friends fall into this category too, but because the starting point was so low (mostly UVA Sigma Chi buffoonery) , the difference between the THEN and the NOW is even more stark. I have friends from college who if you had asked me then, I would have told you they’d have trouble transitioning into real life, who are pillars in their communities, great fathers, and superb professionals. When you sit across from a man you’ve known for nearly forty years, who you first encountered when he was rushing your fraternity and distinguished himself by the number of bong-hits he took, and he overwhelms you with his insight, wisdom, responsibility, and maturity—you know that something beautiful and dare I say it—useful—has happened. The process of aging in a man is something extraordinary, and this weekend’s reunion drove it home for me.

UVA Sigma Chi House—prior to recent renovations

Have I undergone this transformation? I hope so, but I cannot know, because my observations are external to myself, likely subject to bias, and focused on the wonders of other men. There are some (who will remain unnamed but who are on very close electron rings to my nucleus) who might have strong views on this subject, for whom my puckish sense of humor and mischief might indicate disqualification. I am a work in progress and will soldier on, their encouragement to improve serving as grand motivation.

Let’s finish up with someone who appears never to have undergone this transition.

Donald Trump

The more I thought about this wondrous process of male maturity and how many exemplars of it I have in my life, the more I kept coming back to what may be the thing at the heart of my searing animus for Donald Trump. Putting aside the fact that I considered him to be a national security threat in 2016 and still do today, my personal problem with him is that he is a nearly 76-year old entitled teenager. It isn’t that I disagree with his politics; wait long enough, and he’ll agree with most any position. It is that he has none of the poise, maturity, and wisdom that should be native to a man of his age. This is of great entertainment value to some, and to others, his immaturity, his volatility, and his cruelty are great attractors. When pressed, these people make a distinction that I do not. They — perhaps in a healthy way — say that they don’t need those things in a President, that he is an instrument for their particular grievances, and that because he “fights”, the rest of those things do not matter. They brush aside simple questions like, “Would you like to have a father, father-in law, husband, lover, brother or son who acts like this”, considering them to be beside the point.

To me though, they are exactly the point. And as I walked around the Lawn early on Saturday evening, I saw many men older than myself, happily chatting with their classmates and wives. Men in full, most of whom I imagine, have achieved some sizable measure of the virtues of age. Men who have worked, loved, laughed, contributed, fought, and suffered. I had conversations throughout the weekend with men like this from earlier classes than mine, and I came away from each grateful for the chat and more appreciative of the traits they share as a virtue of time.

Legends, I tell you. These men are LEGENDS

I don’t think I’ll be as hung up on the age thing in five years when I head back for number 40. Maybe by then I’ll have achieved a greater measure of what I admire so much in others. Stay tuned.

ETC

I remember with zero fondness these half mesh hats, and I thought that we as a society had ridded ourselves of them. Then I saw my daughters wearing them recently, and I’d hoped that it was only a slight outbreak of insanity. Then I went to Mincers this weekend and saw these abominations.

Americans fought and died to save us from hats like this.