Diary: Activism of the elderly

I'm 63 years old, same as Russ. I spent my formative years in eastern New Mexico.

The '50s were plagued by drought, ethnic bitterness, a stalled economy, a society stratified by poverty stricken hardscrabble farmers and farm laborers on the one hand, and town merchants and business owners along with university professors on the other. The town had more fundamentalist churches than it had jobs. Everyone on the lower end of the social/economic strata carried a lot of anger away when he left.

During the mid-'90s I attended a reunion there. A return of folks who attended school there during the late '50s and early '60s. Curiosity, I suppose, motivated most of us.

During the reunion one of our number left one of the functions all decked out in his suit and tie, went a few blocks away and robbed the local bank.

He was never identified, never caught.

We all gave a lot of thought to which of us that might have been, and why. Most of us finally concluded someone had a lot of the same fond memories of the place the rest of us had, and decided to tip his hat to setting things right in his own tiny way.

It's a bit late in the day for seniors to try to leave a better world. I'd say most of us are scraping and scrambling just trying to survive without having to go live under a bridge somewhere.

But activism takes a lot of different forms.

Maybe Russ is right. Maybe we all ought to scout around and find just the exact kind of activism we find most satisfying.

I've led a lot of activist rallies in my life, stood in front of a lot of angry, yelling people, done the marching thing, the rock-throwing-dodge-tear-gas thing. Maybe some of it helped. Hell we're in Iraq, instead of Vietnam.

I've mostly thought this time of my life I'd gone beyond the activist page, but I'm willing to reconsider.