Personal

Personal 

Age has some Privileges (Jan. 2003)

There was a wonderful cartoon in the June 14, 1999 issue of the New Yorker magazine, reproduced here, with the text: "I think I've acquired some wisdom over the years, but there doesn't seem to be much demand for it." 

One privilege of my station as an older citizen is that if that respect is not forthcoming, then I no longer feel the desire or need to run after it. I don't need or want to compete for attention with my thoughts and opinions any more. If I ask about and listen to you - your interests, activities and thoughts, then I expect you to do the same for me; if not, then I can feel free to go my own way. It's a simple matter of respect. 

On the other hand, it's also not about lurking for signs of disrespect, holding grudges and cutting off contact. A simple show of respect and courtesy is always enough. 

Note added 6/15/05: I've recently come up with the concept of an "expiration date" to deal with some promised actions or anticipated responses that never seem to happen. Why keep waiting for months or even years when I've lost interest anyway? It's so much easier to just drop the subject entirely.

Why a Personal Web Page? (Original Jan. 2003, updated and moved May 2005) 

Aging and Mortality (Jan. 2003, updated Oct. 2003)

When you're young, if you think about it at all, you feel that you'll live forever. As the birthdays pile up, you start thinking about reaching half-way marks, or of being past the mid-point. There are certain milestones such as retirement which definitely mark an event in the second half of your life. 

Is it a time for feelings of regret, or of accomplishment? Goals set long ago, whether implicit or explicit, have a lot to do with contentment or dissatisfaction at this point. 

In my own case, the goals were never fame and fortune, massive material accumulation, or high title or position. How am I to measure success? 

I like to think that my principles of integrity, pride of workmanship, and giving 100% effort have had had impact on others, whether fellow workers, acquaintances, friends or family. That might be direct or a "butterfly effect". Although many others can and have done more good, I also sought to do no harm. 

As far as facing mortality, then, I feel contentment. Our children are mature adults, self-sufficient, with good value systems. Hard work, never an end in itself, has brought us a comfortable lifestyle. If the time to pass on comes, it will be without regret. 

Besides, if I were meant to leave life earlier, there have been opportunities already. The simple matter of surviving a direct bomb hit on a suburban home during wartime has been a constant reminder of the role of chance and luck in life. And there were other times that could have ended badly. 

A continuing objective is to keep both body and mind healthy and active. Intellectual curiosity works for one, and a love of motion and activity the other. 

On the positive side, both body and spirit still seem to be a good deal younger, at least fifteen years worth (although that would already be about fifty - hmmm...). And the body has held up quite well - for example, a mild blood disorder diagnosed in the mid-1990s has stayed stable. It finally explained the consistently low blood counts (two sigma below normal) that had sometimes prevented me from donating blood. My only bad time with that knowledge came when three well-known people died of a severe case of this disorder in the same week (Carl Sagan and Paul Tsongas among them), but that's already been many years in the past now. 

Updated Oct. 2003: (65th birthday)

Birthdays as numbered milestones of age have generally not had that much meaning for me; my fortieth was in fact something to look forward to because it meant that I could (then) qualify for the Boston Marathon and run officially with a number. Which I did. Similarly, the sixtieth was a very enjoyable event because we brought our kids to meet my German relatives (really family) and these relatives made it a special event. 

But the sixty-fifth was a little different if only because it meant a transition of medical coverage to Medicare, which I'd always associated with "old people". For at least a while I'll call myself "Medicare Man". On the other hand, sixty-five has some financial compensations with all sorts of discounts for the, yes, elderly. As for the the day itself, I was torn between wanting it to be a special occasion with acknowledgment and recognition of a numerical milestone, or making it as low-key as any other birthday. In the end the question settled itself with some phone calls and a nice dinner ˆ deux.

"Oilcan" Butterfly (Sept. 2006)

An odd set of images, but there's a reason . . . More ....

An "Oilcan" Butterfly (Aug. 2006)

What an odd title! What a bizarre combination of images! But there's a reason. 

Sometime during my professional career I realized that I was more of an "oilcan" kind of person than a star. It meant looking after and doing the little things that make a team or group run more smoothly, rather than grinding the gears of self-promotion. That includes what I used to call "technical floor-sweeping", the little tasks that matter but that others often prefer not to do. And although that thought came to me while out in the High-Tech world, it had also been true of my earlier stay in academia. Physics experiments depended on teamwork, a smooth meshing of talents and tasks, even more so than out in industry. 

What I also learned is that, although the guy with the oilcan makes a team better than a group of competing and clashing stars, that function is usually under-appreciated. Certainly the award of academic tenure is strongly tilted toward the big performers, especially in research, rather than the conscientious teachers. By nature and perhaps talent, I wasn't going to be one of the former. 

And what's true of professional situations applies to social ones as well. I suppose the best reward is to have smoothed or resolved some knotty situation quietly without putting oneself in the foreground, but there are some times when recognition or just acknowledgment of one's efforts would go a long way. 

The butterfly image is similar, drawing on the "butterfly effect" in chaos theory. My legacy, if any, to the future is going to have to be the sometimes seemingly imperceptible impact on others of someone who tries to live by integrity and pride in one's work in a small way, rather than through some grand achievements. As such, when the time comes, I think that an image of a butterfly would be a fitting symbolic memorial of my life. 

There is some precedent - American Indian names are given during coming-of-age and often draw on nature. Most imitators of Indian practices get it totally wrong and give themselves fierce animal names, forgetting famous leaders like "Sitting Bull" and "Red Cloud". So then why should a butterfly not be an appropriate emblem for a man's life?

Peak Experiences (March 2003)

These are the transforming, highly emotional and highly memorable events in my life, in no particular order.

• • Surviving a direct hit by a bomb on our small suburban home near Berlin during WW II. All else follows, because if that had turned out badly ....

  • After the war, sometime between 1945-47, in the small town of Neuenhagen, as I walked to school every day in the month before Christmas, I would pass a small shop with a toy train set in the window. Times were hard, food was scarce, and I knew that there was no way that it could ever be mine. Then one day it was gone, and I was heartbroken. Imagine the joy when it showed up as my Christmas present! Since money had little value, my parents had bartered for it to give me that great pleasure. I still have that Märklin train set. now; somehow my parents managed to send it ahead to the U. S. when we emigrated.

  • Hearing four large works by J.S. Bach at Carnegie Hall for the first time, all in one week sometime in the '60s, as performed by the Munich Bach Choir and Orchestra under Karl Richter; they were the St. Matthew Passion, the St. John Passion, the Mass in B Minor and the Christmas Oratorio.

  • Seeing our children right after their birth on June 14, 1969. The miracle of life is never as vivid as when one sees a new life for the first time.

  • Running and finishing my first marathon run, in Boston. Going through Hereford Street just before the finish was magical.

  • Going to an Eric Clapton rock concert in Providence. The kids wanted to go, and we wouldn't let them be driven by a someone that had just gotten a driver's license. I volunteered, not knowing how overwhelming the sound level would be, but the songs were great. Yes, one can have peak experiences from Bach and Clapton in the same life.

  • The walks in the Arnold Arboretum with daughter Ruth in the year after college when she was living here and searching for her career path.

  • Visiting my uncle Heinz in what had been East Germany on his 90th birthday, not only meeting him for the first time as an adult, but also getting to know four age-peer sets of relatives who quickly became not only family but friends. The visit also included returning to my city of origin Berlin after an absence of 47 years. All that time, my communication with Heinz had been by letter; his optimistic Weltanschauung made him a role model for me.

• Learning and playing a Two-part Invention composed by son Daniel, and then performing it at a workshop.

"Great Legs" (Sept. 2006)

A true story . . . More ....

Women Talking (Jan. 2003)

This may not be politically correct, but as a man, don't come between women and their need to talk. It supersedes everything, even maternal instincts. Two personal incidents:

Some many years ago, when the children were very young, we got to know another couple with twins of about the same age. Being football enthusiasts, we husbands thought it would be great to get together on a Sunday afternoon to watch a favorite team. Unfortunately, while the wife attended to serious chatting, her kids roamed the house unsupervised. I spent more time taking care seeing that they didn't hurt or poison themselves than watching football. Afterward, I decided never to do that again. 

A few years ago, we had some relatives and their young children over to our house. I had some apprehensions about becoming the caretaker. Sure enough, while the women chatted on the deck, the kids roamed the house, yard, walkway and steps. If I hadn't watched them going up and down concrete steps, they would have pitched forward and cracked their heads on the hard steps and sidewalk. But the women were all obliviously talking, talking,...

My fear of women giving primacy to talk while presumably engaged in other matters also has me give as wide a berth as possible to two kinds of women drivers: Those with a woman companion in the car, and those talking on a cell phone. There's little on the road as fearsome as a woman making a turn toward you with an SUV, one-handed, while using her cell phone. 

When younger, I used to wonder why men in many families where so quiet. When one says "strong and silent", the image is always a man. Women can be strong, but silent? 

Of course men have their own way of talking. A lot of man-talk has a competitive edge to it - the speaker will often claim to have done or possess something bigger, faster, smarter, cheaper or more expensive (whichever applies), a better deal, etc., than you. 

The best bet is to find a woman that will listen as well as talk.

Advice and Consent (Jan. 2003)

Things are not always what they seem. There are times when you may be asked to give an opinion, or think that you are, when that's actually the last thing of interest. The questioner really may already have a decision in hand, and just wants confirmation, not your alternative thoughts. It can be hard to sort out the difference, but a mistake can disturb domestic tranquility. 

The best way to proceed may be to give gently, diplomatically qualified agreement. Then, if further elaboration is desired, it'll be asked for; if not, the subject is better off closed. That may be tough on the ego but is overall more effective than treading on a landmine.

"I forgot ... "; "I can't ... " (Nov. 2005)

There are probably no two statements that provide a greater irritation factor. One expects them from children, but not adults. 

"I forgot" is a standard excuse for a child, which most often really means "I didn't want to do it". An adult may forget something for any number of reasons, but should at least appear to be apologetic or regretful. The unqualified "I forgot", said as if it were as natural and unpreventable as tornados or tsunamis, really means that the forgotten matter, and you if it had to do with you, weren't deemed important enough for making an effort to remember. In short, it's a child's excuse, not worthy of an adult. 

"I can't" is a prelude to defeat before the battle has even begun. It says "I won't try, and if I did I wouldn't succeed", which certainly makes the speaker predictively correct by giving up before beginning. Why am I so bothered by this? In my life I've had a number of difficult situations that merited an "I can't", but where that wasn't a feasible option. Sure enough, getting through those built strength and pride, and a greater ability to handle the next tough spot. If it works for physical muscles, why not for mental ones as well?

Thoughts on Men and Fathers (Nov. 2003)

A man and father's lot, like the Gilbert & Sullivan policeman, is not always "an 'appy one". More ....

Thoughts on Men and Fathers (Nov. 2003, last updated June 2004)

A man and father's lot, like the Gilbert & Sullivan policeman, is not always "an 'appy one". Historically, the role carries expectations of being stoic, capable and cool under pressure, manually dexterous, tough, maybe even a bit macho. He's usually the prime provider, and so must tend to demands of career and workplace, often including the politics of the latter. At home, he often gets to play "bad cop" to Mom's "good cop". I sometimes wonder whether or not the effect of playing this role affects the later relationship between father and children negatively, whether consciously or subconsciously. 

And he does get to take a back seat more often than one might realize - in the colorful phrase of a Texas project manager that I knew: "sucking hind titty". As the most amusing example, in our family, I got to calling myself "Metro-and-Region Dad" because of the distribution of the morning newspaper: son Daniel claimed the Sports section, daughter Ruth chose the Living & Arts, while Naomi acquired the front page news section, leaving Dad with ..... 

Sometimes men also have to take on responsibilites that fall outside the usual expectations and capabilities. They involve characteristics that are more "feminine", the care-taking, emotionally sensitive side. I happen to believe these are a part of any man and father, whether hardly noticeable or substantial. 

An example: So it it was that, as an only child, I was looking after a demanding, emotionally needy, increasingly infirm mother. It meant juggling home, career and workplace, along with her needs. If I visited her after my fast-paced day in high-tech, I always needed to gear myself down to a much slower than even my normal pace during the half-hour drive to her place. The interaction also had all of the tensions and strains of role reversal between child and parent, of who is the caretaker and who is the dependent, all without making it appear so. At the time, there were lots of newspaper articles about women caretakers of the elderly, but none about men in that role. Yet men, by upbringing and perhaps by nature, seem less suited for it, so that it becomes a tougher task to handle well. Many times I came close to a breaking point, but men are expected to carry on. 

The workplace is most often, as it should be, a domain separated from the home. Yet the same person who deals with the demands and stresses of project deadlines, of career advancement, of office politics, of downsizing and outsourcing, then comes home. Yes, it's a pleasure and a relief, but it's not as if the rest of the day hasn't happened. And there may be triumphs as well as troubles to share. In my own case, the early '90s were a difficult time as the company I worked in, Digital Equipment Corp., tried to downsize its way to profitability. Groups were decimated, co-workers let go, plants closed, and the tension never abated. Being downsized myself was a relief, although looking for work at age 56 had its own stresses. 

So, yes, men can hurt and feel emotional pain too; yes, they too need empathy and acknowledgment; yes, it's also important to let them know that, and let them hear of love and respect, to give them emotional and physical hugs. To this day, I remember a touching incident in another context: I ran the Newport Marathon a number of times - once when Daniel came along as a spectator, I had to quit when I came by at the 20-mile mark. The young boy put his arm around his father to console him. It was a lovely counterpoint to my consoling him as a young chess-player after a tough loss in a state championship. 

But we all grow up or older, and more mature, and then don't do that so much any more. Still, an expression of affection, pride, love or even just respect can mean a great deal. Because negative feelings tend not to be expressed, a lack of expression could become interpreted as a lack of affection, pride, love or respect. 

Then there's Fathers Day, thankfully not the same genuflection to parental sainthood that Mothers Day has often become. My thoughts on it are the same as for Mothers Day - totally unnecessary - because the whole year matters, not just that one particular day. On the other hand, if the mundane every day, every week, every month, every year slips by too easily, then maybe a special Birthday or a Fathers Day could be just the occasion for making those warm feelings known. 

My own Fathers Day tradition is to go out for my usual long Sunday run, and then toward the end visit his gravesite at the nearby cemetery. While there I'll reminisce about the things we used to do together when I was young. Later, I'm content to fire up the grill and, with a gin and tonic in hand, play the part of the backyard chef. 

More: Once upon a time, fathers taught their children (probably but not exclusively their sons) various skills. I remember my father teaching me how to swim, and how to ride a bicycle. We put up a model train layout, and built scenery for it together. When I was older, we worked together on wallpapering and painting, and I'm sure I first learned from him how to use use many tools. Now we have a concept and word for that: "bonding", but we do less than when the word didn't exist. Instead there are lessons to sign up for (swimming, tennis, driving, ... ) with surrogates, and there are organized sports of all kinds; at best fathers may participate by driving their progeny to and from these scheduled activities. The children may learn better skills but have less of a bond with their father. Is that necessarily better?

Learning without doing (Dec. 2003)

A intriguing and counter-intuitive title, because "Learning by doing" is generally accepted as the best way to learn something new. I'll agree that it's much better than listening to instructions, or trying to read them, without actually doing. But my point here is that there's a lot to learn just from watching with open eyes and a receptive mind. Some personal examples come to mind: 

When I was growing up, ours was a typical household in which my mother was the homemaker, and thus the cook and baker, and a good one. I never cooked or baked a single thing while at home, but I must have kept my eyes wide open because, when I eventually got my own apartment, I was able to draw on what I had seen her do and to do my own cooking, with relatively few mistakes. All those times of sitting in the kitchen had meant absorbing information and storing it away, even without intended later use. 

In one of my High-Tech workplaces I typically stayed late at least once a week because of all the work that needed to be done. A young man led an evening cleaning crew; he obviously took pride in his work, and was looking to expand his operation. That fit right in with my view that any job, no matter what, is worth doing well, so I started chatting with him. I learned from him how to keep stainless steel looking uniformly shiny, namely by wiping a thin film of oil over it. 

And, although I did some work around the home together with my father, certainly wallpapering and painting, I'm sure I learned many other techniques just by watching and asking questions. 

It's really only necessary to be alert, and to keep eyes and mind open. I'll contrast that with what I call a "Claude Rains", someone who turns into the invisible man when there's work to be done, and neither helps nor watches. Yet I don't have much patience with "blank" watching either, i.e., watching without learning.

If it's broke, .... (Nov. 2003)

In the modern world where most things are thrown out when they no longer work, I'm an anachronism who will look to fix them first. There's a great satisfaction to making something function again, and one also learns about the inner workings. And so, for example, I kept a clothes dryer going for years past its expected life by tracing a problem to a faulty electrical connection. 

Similarly, I would rather try my own repair than immediately calling in an expert. I've seen "professionals" do slipshod work that I've had to fix afterward. The most recent example was the installation of a new dishwasher - it took three visits by service personnel, the latest by the "master plumber". A few days later, I noticed a drip and had to tighten down a connection! 

The modern throwaway world does not make it easy for the old-fashioned repairer. Many things have become so technologically complex that they defy repair efforts. In the 1960's I could still attempt a major car repair (foolhardy, and successful); all other things being equal, I would not dare to do that now. 

Of course I'm also fighting the overwhelming tide of consumerism. Advertising hammers us with the message that new stuff is better, bigger, faster, improved, lemon-freshened; also, throwing out the old and buying the new is good for the economy. I've been told that it's better to waste food because that helps farm production. 

Unfortunately the disposable society extends to people as well. Workers are laid off, fired, made redundant, to improve the bottom line, or maybe only the perception. Loyalty in the workplace is a quaint notion; the lifetime employee an anachronism. 

And so I prefer to keep stuff going and not to add yet more junk to the nation's trashpiles. At home, when I look first to repair something that's not working as well as it used to, while Naomi would rather go out to buy a new one, I'll mention that maybe I should look after a new wife model too. Generally that buys me enough time to make the thing work again.

Pride and Shame in Things German (Jan. 2003)

I was born in Germany in 1938, emigrated to the U.S. in 1949, became a citizen in 1955, and continued to live here. That means I was young enough to be a victim in the war, rather than a perpetrator. It was also long enough ago that, as a long-time U.S, citizen, I could disavow all things German and have nothing to do with the country or its troubled past. 

But I've kept and nurtured the language, and taken great pleasure in the best that Germany has had to offer in music and literature. Can't I say, simply, that since I was too young, I had nothing to do with the horrors that were committed in its name, and can freely enjoy all the culture without the guilt? 

My answer is also very simple: No, I cannot. 

I believe that one cannot "cherry-pick", but must take the whole package. It means seeing not only the lofty thoughts and spiritual music, but also the terrible deeds and cracks in the German being. The war and the Holocaust are not something to hide and forget (not "Schwamm drüber"), but to remember, to try to understand, and to feel shame over. 

Just a few years ago, I met someone on a cruise, someone from a German background, who loved and raved about "German culture", although it did seem to stop with Goethe. The present contamination from foreigners was something to look down on. Some anti-Semitism might also have lurked within him, although it barely peeked out; fortunately, we parted before it emerged fully. But, in my opinion, he represented exactly the wrong attitude and approach to things German. 

What then is one to do? After all, it's hard for one small individual to make amends of any sort. Well, while keeping a visible German persona, one can try to live a good life without doing harm. One can be sensitive to the hurt and pain that Germany has caused rather than ignoring or rejecting the past; that means accepting views and opinions that might be hurtful to oneself, or that one would rather not hear. Yes, there are people who will never buy a German car or go over to Germany, but they have their good reasons. And perhaps this works: I've never had my German background thrown in my face despite close contact with people who had the right to do so.

Berlin as my "Heimatsstadt" (March 2003)

Although I left the greater Berlin area at age 9 and Germany itself at age 11, I still consider it as my "Heimatsstadt" (home city). [see WWII Memories for some details]. Hence also my preoccupation with the city's emblem, the famous "Berliner BŠr" (bear). 

It was a very emotional time finally going back in 1994, after 47 years, and to see the city and hear the dialect with its dry humor once again. There's an expressiveness the folk wisdom of oft-used, well-known phrases that, while rough, show subtleties that just cannot be translated fully. Some of my favorites, with attempts at giving the meaning:

>---------- 

> From:        Schmidt. Peter E.[SMTP:schmidt[@genrad.com} 

> Sent: Friday, July 31, 1998 6:52 AM 

> To:     'hoppe@sfgate.com' 

> Cc:     Schmidt, Peter E. 

> Subject:        Help with an echo from the past 

> 

> Dear Art Hoppe, 

> 

>After hearing yet another report of Kenneth Starr's micro-progress in his ever 

> ongoing investigation of minutiae, triviae and inconsequentiae, I began to 

> recall a phrase from the past. It was a phrase from another time, another 

> situation, but it seemed to fit so well with Starr's glacial pace. Perhaps 

> distorted somewhat by time and memory, I remembered: 

> 

> "It was in the 37th year of our lightning campaign to wipe out the dread 

> Viet Pffft guerillas ..." 

> 

> Some columnist had written a series of satirical commentaries with this 

> lead-in. For a long time, I could not recall who or where. Then some distant, 

> dusty, recovered memory mumbled ..... " San Francisco Chronicle" .... and a 

> day later it mumbled again ..... "Art Hoppe" ..... 

> 

> Through the wonder of the W's, I was able to note that you were still active 

> and still writing the columns I so thoroughly enjoyed during my 1966-1968 

> stay in the Bay Area. Congratulations also on your lifetime achievement 

> award in journalism. 

> 

> Now, could you please do me the favor of 

> - Confirming whether or not you were indeed the author and, if so 

> - Providing the correct version 

> 

> It it were possible to get a copy of one of those old columns, I would be 

> even more delighted. 

> 

> 

> Thank you in advance, 

> Peter Schmidt 

>

Below are some relevant links:

Art Hoppe Archives: Under Archives

choose the Source: Chronicle, 

type the Byline: Hoppe, 

and select the year (from 1995 to 2000, the year of his death)

to see his articles in the San Francisco Chronicle. There are also a few relevant articles in 2001. 

Art Hoppe tributes , including my own contribution ("It was in the 43d year of our lightning campaign...").

My Favorite Painting