You’re as young as you feel

The New York Times reported last week on the death of a 76-year-old man in the subway. The story referred to him as “elderly.”

“Elderly?” I turn 76 today and I don’t consider myself elderly. I prefer to think of myself as “mature, wise, sagacious, experienced, sophisticated.” Okay, maybe not sophisticated, but you get the idea.

Although I retired as publisher a few years ago, handing over those responsibilities to the capable hands of Brother Art, I continue to show up at the office every day. What do I do here now? As little as possible. I look over the bills and grumble about how much we’re spending, help with proofreading, do the payroll, write these weekly timeless words of prose and muse about affairs both local and global. After 54 years in journalism, I couldn’t just walk away from this newspaper, so I continue to report for duty for a few hours each day. I’m not knocking myself out, but I like to think I still contribute to the business.

I offer institutional memory. I’ve been around long enough to remember when there were five hardware stores (including Cullen Our Own Hardware) and four locally owned pharmacies in town, not to mention an abundance of local clothing stores, shoe stores, dime stores and car dealers. I remember where the P&J Market was east on Railroad Street and the Little Store was west on Vestal Street. You could get your car serviced at Robbie’s Mobil, Flohr’s DX and literally dozens of other stations around town where they’d check your oil, clean your windshield, air up your tires and vacuum your car while they pumped your gas for 28 cents a gallon.

I’ve worked with police chiefs going back to Andre Carstensen and fire chiefs back to Ron Wilson in the 1970s, when both the police and fire stations were on the first floor of City Hall. I’ve known our sheriffs since Don Barels worked Buena Vista County with two deputies. I got my driver’s license on the first floor of the original courthouse, when all the county offices were in that one old building. I took my driver’s test there from smiling Iowa Highway Patrolman Ed Johnson (before patrolmen were called troopers). I signed up for the military draft at the Selective Service office in the basement of the Post Office on Lake Avenue (now the Storm Lake School Administration Building).

I even remember when you could drive the streets of Storm Lake without needing an alignment afterwards!

All but 12 years of my life have been spent in Storm Lake. So when our reporters are working on a story and want to know where a person in local history lived or worked, I can tell them. When they want to know where the county jail was on the courthouse square, I can tell them. When they ask about the long-gone South, North, West and East schools, I can tell them. When they want to know who were Wendell Halverson, Clarence Krepps, Msgr. Ivis, Luther Powell or Frank Starr, I can tell them. Where was the original Vilas turkey plant? I can tell them. Not to mention a quadrillion more bits of local history that are stuffed inside the dark reaches of my brain.

Mostly I hang around because I enjoy the fellowship of the office. The people who work here are my friends and family. Working side by side with younger people who have new ideas keeps me feeling young. And there’s only so much “The Price Is Right” I can watch on TV.

After confronting prostate cancer and heart issues over the past dozen years, I eat healthier and walk to work every day, about two miles round-trip. I mow the yard weekly and that’s good for another 3.5 miles. I get annual covid and flu vaccinations and see the doctor for checkups twice a year. I make annual donations to Mayo Clinic just in case. And I haven’t had a Big Mac or Coca Cola in 12 years.

The Times Pilot is better than ever. This place would get along fine without me. When Mary and I head out to see our kids in Indiana and DC, the paper gets out without missing a beat. But as long as they tolerate me and I don’t get in the way, Times Square will be my second home.

In the meantime, my next goal is for the Today Show’s Al Roker to wish me a happy 100th birthday on a Smucker’s jar.