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For someone who advocates the regular practice of mindfulness and other spiritual practices I have to admit—with all self-honesty and with a little (but not too much) guilt—that I have become a most cranky ‘old’ man.
I remember the day so very well. It was April 13, 1969. (I still have the newspaper—or the relevant page—to prove it.) It was a Sunday, and I went outside my parents’ house to collect the newspaper, which would have been somewhere on the nature strip or driveway. The paper was The Sun-Herald. On page 58 there was an article about my all-time favourite comedian Groucho Marx [pictured right and below]. The article (with a byline by Don Riseborough) was headed ‘Groucho Gets the Grouches,’ but actually it was a reworking of a widely syndicated article that I’ve traced back to an article entitled ‘Is Groucho Serious? You Bet Your Life!’ and published in The New York Times on April 8, 1969 (on page 40) with a byline by Israel Shenker.
I read the article with great interest and gusto, but I was devastated. Yes, devastated—totally. My hero Groucho had turned into a cranky—indeed very angry—and bitter old man. So sad, I thought, that this funny man could say that he was tired of being funny. Now, he was deadly serious, and it seemed to me that he would remain that way. No more funny stuff would issue from his mouth. Fortunately, I was wrong on all that. He would have a couple more showbiz and literary hurrahs before he joined his brothers in death.
Now, back to this article which, by the way, I carried round on my person for several days thereafter, hoping all would see it. Groucho railed against the churches, organized religion, and the folly of belief in any sort of afterlife. ‘You only live once, despite what Jesus or somebody said … Go out to the garden and tear a flower in four. It won’t be a flower again.’ He railed against the military-industrial complex, saying, ‘You know there are 1,800 retired admirals and generals hustling business for the various munitions companies. I’d have them shot.’ He railed against crime and militant students—the ones for whom he was a hero, a god—saying, ‘Kids today are detestable, and thank God mine are grown up.’ He railed against the war in Vietnam, saying, ‘It would be different if we were fighting a just war, if there is any such thing. … We have no right to be in Vietnam.’ He railed against nudity in the theatre … and many other things. Indeed, he railed against almost everyone and everything else. Groucho—the Groucho I had loved for years and years (I still do)—had turned into a cranky and embittered old man.
I, too, have become a cranky ‘old’ man of 57. (At least Groucho was 78 at the time the above mentioned article and interview. I think I have been a cranky ‘old’ man since I was a teenager—possibly earlier.) Still, I would like to think I am not quite the bigoted man that Groucho—bless him—appeared to be, notwithstanding that his political views were generally leftist.
So, what am I cranky about? Well, I am cranky about the lack of manners in society these days I am cranky about the crap that is on commercial television these days. (Has it ever been any different?) I am cranky about the ascendancy of a most nasty and selfish form of conservatism in politics and religion—especially in the United States of America, but also in Australia and many other countries. I am cranky about the lies our politicians routinely tell us—and how they ‘stay on message’ (how I hate those words) without ever answering the question nor saying anything meaningful. I am cranky about the effects that postmodernism has had on educational and literacy standards—the dumbing down of education and all that. Terrible stuff. I am cranky about the inequitable distribution of income and wealth in this country (Australia) and elsewhere. Like Groucho, a certain thought comes into my mind from time to time—‘I’d have them shot.’ Then, I recoil, as did Groucho, who went on to say, ‘That was facetious about having them shot. But it wouldn’t be a great loss if those pot-bellied thieves were put out of their misery.’ Well, Groucho, the thieves are less pot-bellied today—many of them go to the gym and work out regularly—but they are still thieves for all that. And, in the words of W S Gilbert, ‘I don’t think they’d be missed, I’m sure they’d not be missed!’ Strong stuff? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m sure we all feel that way at times.
So, Groucho was serious—and angry. So am I … even though I will never be in the same league as Groucho Marx. Not even in the same ballpark. Nor even in the same city or county.
Well, what am I going to do about it? Well, for one thing, I will continue to watch Marx Brothers movies and episodes of Groucho’s quiz show You Bet Your Life. That may not be a cure for my crankiness—indeed, it may even worsen the condition—but I don’t care. I will die laughing, no matter what.