When Mildred Was a Wild One

When I was entrenched in musical theater – doing shows every weekend – there was a general feeling that we actors had to up the energy for any Sunday matinee. The applause could be dismal and lackluster, and the laughs tended to be, shall we say, less enthusiastic, less on the spot, a pitter-patter.

The reason? The audience was awash in blue-hairs.

“How’s the house today?”

“Oh, you know… a bunch of blue-hairs”- a.k.a…. old people.

Now, don’t get me wrong, we were grateful they were there – ANY theater company relies on and barely scrapes by based on this dedicated group of older ladies and their dragged-along hubbies. But, also known to us performers, they could be a conservative bunch and scoff at the material as being too racy, too inappropriate, too modern, too confusing. In the ‘90s, I understood it – these ladies had been in their 20s during World War II and might not quickly take to the culture of Hair or the air-the-dirty-laundry aspect of, say, A Chorus Line.  

But today’s blue-hair? Today’s “little old lady?” It always surprises me when some are still so offended by certain issues, clutching their pearls, aghast, as they view Spring Awakening or Next to Normal. But has it occurred to you that today’s 80-something lady was fully in her voluptuous 20s during the bikini-wearing, hip-shaking, Jim-Morrison-fueled, swinging 60s, when Vietnam was splitting the country apart, free love was everywhere and she was the first with access to The Pill? She may’ve fainted or broken down a police barricade at a Beatles concert!

Even those older ladies in their 70s today don’t seem like they’d have room to be all offended so easily. Fifty years ago, in the sexually free 1970s, these lithe 20-something broads were slinking off to the disco hall, grinding away to the incessant beat, attending key parties, dabbling in recreational drugs and witnessing the women’s movement in the workplace while friends experimented in swinging.

I was reminded of this at the library last week. On the way in I’d observed the stereotypical librarian – a woman of a certain age who the world throws into the “she’s just there” pile. Just there. Doing her job. I hate to confess I even pre-judged her as a certain type of lady, simply based on stage of life. But upon my departure, while checking out some music CDs (yep, I’m still old-fashioned), she came upon my Tom Jones CD and I watched decades melt away from her face as she purred, “Oh, Tom Jones. Now that was a hell of a concert. I’ll never forget it.” She glowed, giving off a naughty twinkle. 

Hello, my name is Joe, and I like old people.” I’m just intrigued by it all.

Most friends don’t like it when I bring up this crap. 

Me: Hey, see Alma over there, with the walker? 

Friend: Yeah? 

Me: I wonder if she was the ball-buster at the office…

Friend: … what?

Me: Or see Eleanor over there?

Friend: Um, yeah?

Me: She could’ve been the headlining stripper on Sunset Blvd in ‘62 –

Friend: Eww, Joe, dude, what is wrong with you?

Me: Okay, maybe she was the head helicopter pilot in Vietnam… slipping in across enemy lines!

Friend: Where do you come up with this stuff?! Who cares?

It’s not that I’m deliberately trying to be provocative or inappropriate. I’m an oddball, I know, but I’m the guy who doesn’t just look past or ignore an elderly guy. Instead, I observe the “old guy” (who maybe marched for gay rights in 1969) or the blue-hair (who was a semi-pro roller derby chick), as not invisible, but as a human who’s lived a whole life, surviving on this crazy planet. I’m fascinated.

Which oldster shuffling along was the lothario? Which Purple Hat Society lady was the shrew of the office before mellowing out later in life? Who worked in the aerospace industry, knowing full well they were developing bombs? Which guy was the private investigator who split up many marriages? Who was the blowhard who was an insecure bully to underlings? Who was the surprise pregnancy mother?

When I first viewed the movie Titanic, it aligned right smack with my odd way of seeing the world, and I loved it. There was dithery yet lovely Gloria Stuart as Rose in the present day, and then we’re whisked back to discover the passionately rebellious Kate Winslet version of Rose – flirting with young Jack, confidently disrobing for him, making love, daring to rebel against her mother’s societal plans for her, then actively fighting to survive a horrific disaster.

So many of the ordinary seniors you pass and ignore on the street have had fascinating lives full of intrigue, sacrifices, lost loves, love affair shenanigans, passionate mistakes and moments of stardom or political intrigue at the office. The awful things they’ve seen – the great moments they’ve witnessed…

But where did this unique worldview come from?

I blame my mother, and all of those Meals on Wheels expeditions.

When I was a kid, my mother volunteered for a weekly route. (She still does, to this day). She was a 30-something woman, two young boys in tow, dropping into the homes of the elderly, trying to help out. My brother and I were probably like most kids, slightly disgusted and afraid of the old people, when encountered – the piles of old newspapers and junk in some run-down places, the distant scent of urine in the air or the scary old-lady housedresses and perfumes. Mom could rarely just drop off a meal and go; she wanted to give them time to talk. So we’d often find ourselves in Mary Woodfield’s living room or on Frances’s front porch, desperately bored and wanting to get home after this epic two-hour commune-with-the-elderly route… but I guess it rubbed off, and we were confronted with the realities, and the humanity, of these folks, as individuals.

I thought of all this again recently when the cover of Ari Seth’s Cohen’s fascinating book, Advanced Love, pulled me in. It’s a deep, entertaining read, chock full of pics of older artistic couples who are truly characters on this earth – a nice affirmation in long-term love and also stories of widows and widowers risking it on a late-in-life love that’s even more passionate.

As with any book dealing with life choices, hindsight being 20/20 and wisdom acquired over the years, it leaves an inspirational, sometimes melancholic feeling, but it gets you thinking. And sure, most of those featured here are the extreme – real characters in their deliberate dress and their worldviews. But even then, there I was – ME, with all my perceived enlightenment about respecting older folks – and I caught myself pre-judging some based on first impressions of their current, older selves. “Oh, aren’t they cute?” I’d think, and then I’d see a pic of them in their vital 30s or 40s, deeply entrenched in life, full of opinions, obligations and goals… and I’d have to recheck my assumptions and realize how cruel aging can be, plain and simple, on all of us. And how it takes a certain grace to get through it with gusto.

I think we’re so afraid to age in this country because we see how seniors and even late-middle-aged people are not respected in our culture – how they’re mistreated, ignored and considered grumpy and difficult. Of course they’re grumpy – these people are experiencing aging for the first time – former beauty queens, head cheerleaders, lead quarterbacks and cutthroat salesmen.

One of the cruel ironies of life is that people stop listening to these older folks right at the time they’ve acquired the knowledge and real-world experience that could answer so many of our questions and issues. Every grandma who was once a working girl has sexual harassment stories from the office back in the day that would make your skin crawl, and most older guys have been through life long enough to instantly pick out the shyster in the pack – who knows, they may’ve even been one. It’s a lot of learned knowledge wasted, that we forget to claim from our elders before they leave us – the stories of early romances, risks taken, how things were accomplished, and the bad things from the “good old days.”

A few years back there was a really powerful meme going around social media, showing an older lady looking in the mirror, and the reflection back showed her as a front-line young nurse, from her profession when young, or an older gentleman looks in the mirror and sees his dashing younger image relflected back, wearing a form-fitting uniform from the factory. 

I love this idea. I’d like to propose that every older patient in a nursing home – hell, every feeling-invisible middle aged person out in the world – had a permanent photo name tag emblazoned on his or her shirt, sporting a hot young picture of them right there, pinned to the chest – a pic of them in the prime of their ultimate power and sexiness, looking their best, looking formidable and full of “worth” – so the caretaker, the doctor, the nurse, the store employee or the complete stranger on the street can “see” the individual before them and the life they’ve lived… and not just see “some old guy” or “just that old lady.” 

It’s a long shot, but as I’m the weirdo who already thinks this way, it’s a sincere hope. We should all hope for this – for someday some young whippersnapper nurse may be so in her own drama that she’ll never take the time to believe we were ever cool, were ever sexual or ambitious. With luck, maybe when I’m 90, I’ll encounter a young 20-something aide (or by then, a freakin’ robot!) who is able to see me and respect me too. One can only pray and hope.

In the meantime, play the game with me. 

See Mildred over there? She and her hubby met on a date seeing the movie Jaws in the theater!

See Gerry over there in the wheelchair? He was in Elvis’s backup band! Did Vegas for years!

And see Norman there? I know he seems like a cranky asshole now, but… oh yeah, sorry… he was a cranky asshole when he was 28 too. Never mind.