[Culturechat] My trip to "The Greatest Generation"

[Vance Roy]

I was born in 1939, so I was at the very tail end of what is known as
the greatest generation. I can take no credit for these people's
actions, but yesterday, I stepped back in time and sat among them as a
group. Maybe I assume too much, but anyone who hasn't read the books by
Tom Brokaw on this subject and by this title (the first one) ought to
look them over. I am old enough to remember that Hitler, Tojo, and
Mussolini were the bad guys and Churchill and Roosevelt were our heroes.
Also, I remember the sudden and cruel sadness in the neighborhood when
parents found that a son "wasn't coming home", as my mother put it. Dear
old Mrs. Levy didn't know what else to do when her son's death was noted
in the telegram but to bring us kids over and make us cookies. Then the
star went up in the window.

That aside, I went to Wakefield, RI to an inn called Larchwood, and
found myself in a wonderful time warp. I should say that this was my
second visit to the Larchwood, so I can confirm that the first
experience wasn't a fluke. In a section of this beautiful old inn is a
bar where on Thursdays at 4 PM and every other Saturday night, a special
event occurs. The bar, of course, contains a semicircular bar, as well
as numerous tables with chairs, a small dance floor, and an even smaller
bandstand against one wall. It is one of those places where you just
know that Edward G. Robinson, Bogart, or someone of that crowd is going
to step in with a babe on his arm at any minute. The clientele fits
right in with these people. Shortly before 4 PM, the room fills with
couples and singles that resemble most Idyllers. Old enough to have been
"participants" in the time of WW II. From two visits, I can tell that
they are the same people there every Thursday. I guess 80% or better are
regulars. The regulars know each other, share the same history, and I am
sure that they also know who is gone now and whose partner remains
alone. The faces are etched with time and God knows how many war stories
in the real sense. There is a courtliness and courtesy among these
Martini and Manhattan drinkers. One waitress covers the whole room and a
bartender takes care of the bar patrons.

The dress ranges from "church type" clothes to very casual. A lot of
them know the band, and the band knows the ones who are new. The music
starts, and the afternoon begins. The music? It is provided by The Jazz
Strollers. A group who are all over Medicare age by more than a few
years, including a 98 year old trombonist who still looks like it is fun
when he has the solo. What does it sound like? Testimony from me says
that it is just outstanding. These guys belt out the greatest "old
Phart" sounds that I have heard live in a long time. Several of them
sing the vocals with barely a quiver in the voice. They all are dressed
in the uniform of kaki pants and light blue polo shirts. Each one
carries a libation with him to the stand, there are intros, and the fun
begins for the next three hours.

Can you imagine people watching in a museum of historical WW II? I
almost felt like an intruder in a place where these folks gather to have
memories. The dancing is classic ballroom with some of the partners
looking like they are joined at the knees. One can sit there and wonder
who was the admiral?, the GI who lay in the foxhole?, the bomber pilot?,
etc. With the singles, who is the widow or widower? What stories are
behind these faces? They obviously are happy to still be here with
friends. Do they, as I do, worry about what will happen when these band
members succumb to time? There won't be any more Jazz Strollers when
they are gone. I feel like I am glad to have an opportunity to see and
hear this while it still goes on. It is fun to see the "stags" patrol.
One guy dances with half a dozen different ladies. He sits on one side
of the bar, and by a signal to one across, she knows he has extended an
invitation to twirl.

On this day, there are two irregulars. One with a bass sax and one with
a trumpet. Each sits in for a turn or two. There is a break when one of
the members announces that they have recently made a tape (no CDs in
this generation) that the bartender will sell you for seven dollars. The
joint is packed. There are ash trays on the tables. You can just bet
that the regulars all meet there each week, and if someone isn't there
who should be, they find out why. They are likely just as an old friend
of mine (not with us except in thought today) who have been there since
WW II when the Germans weren't very far off the coast and the Army guys
and gals had fun there.

So as not to deify this generation, we have to remember people like
Dillinger, Hauptman, Machine Gun Kelly, and Scarface. There were bums
and bad guys, but are there any heroes today? Maybe so. I feel like I
have been lucky to get this living peek at those of yesterday.
-- 
Vance C. Roy
gigli.saw@dplanet.ch