what it must have been like

I have a great uncle who lives in Albany, NY. He spent his whole life in that state, except for when he was in the army or vacationing with his wife to Greece, France, Spain, Italy, Russia, Japan, China, and probably a dozen others I'm not aware of. Uncle Phil is an artist, too. He paints Buddhas and Hindu gods--the ones with 100 arms and hats that look like tinfoil traffic cones. Back in the 50's he lived in Greenwich Village. That right, he was in the vortex of the beat generation. He frequented the same coffee bars as Kerouac and Ginsberg and Corso, and was good friends with a lesser-known wino author named Donald Newlove, who mentioned Phil by name in one of his books. I write a letter to Phil at least once a month because he lives alone now that his wife died. I'm fascinated by his life. And I often think, I wish I knew Phil when he was young, traipsing around the Village before it was perverted by money, drunk as a skunk, painting for love and money and living life with the firey souls of the time.

When my grandfather died two years ago I had similar thoughts about him. I wished I had known him when he was in the Navy during WWII. He worked in the basement of the Pentagon re-writing radio codes every time a plane was shot down in enemy territory. He went to Stuyvesant High School in New York in the 30's, and delivered ice from the back of a horse-drawn cart in the evenings. During college he bought a few taxis and ran a cab service in the city. He liked to drink gin and tonics, and smoked avidly. In fact, my grandmother tells us stories about how he'd walk into the shower with a lit cigarette, then walk out a few minutes later with the same cigarette, still lit. In his later years he became good friends with Abe Poland, who owned the Washington Capitols, and would frequently watch the games from Abe's skybox.

My reverence for these two men is about as deep as reverence can be. And I sincerely wish I had been around when they were young. Frankly, I think we would have hit it off famously.

Similarly, I wish I'd been around when "propaganda" wasn't a dirty word. There was about 10 years after Bernays started talking about it, and before the Nazi's shanghaied it, that propaganda was actually a good thing. It was like the strong-armed brother of PR, which itself was in its fledgling years, as well. But to be able to go around so shamelessly promoting something, essentially manipulating public opinion so it sways in your favor... Man, that must have been something. Almost a shame we missed it.

Oh, wait...

Minimum Wrage