Boomer Journey…

When we were growing up, home ownership was the American Dream and within reach for most people. Veterans came home from World War II ready to segue into post-war civilian life. The dilemma for most Veterans was a critical housing shortage. Vets couldn’t even find an apartment, let alone a house. They moved in with family, rented rooms, and lived in attics and basements.

Builders and developers saw this as an extraordinary business opportunity and bought up land wherever they could find it. Suburbia was born. VA and FHA benefits further fueled the housing boom and the profits. Product planners and architects designed and conceived affordable homes buyers wanted and developed communities where families could live and raise kids. The housing boom of the 1950s and ’60s had its challenges, but it was nonetheless a dreamy time in America.

The only way was up.

Before World War II, “suburbia” was unheard of. There were cities where most people lived and the outlying reaches of rural America where few lived. Rural America was within 25 miles of most cities. Farmland, isolated rural communities – a simple quiet life that was about to change. Developers bought vast stretches of land, cleared the dirt, grass, and trees, and went to work mass producing tract homes.

If you could drive a nail, paint walls, sweat pipes, install bath fixtures, pour concrete, and lay roofing materials, there was work for you to where you could afford to buy the very home you had built.

The Henry Ford economy was alive and well, with a huge return on investment.

Developers rose from the earth, with some having been in the game a long time while others were Veterans, home from the war, with pent-up energy and vision ready to begin civilian life and prosperity. William “Bill” Levitt, A Navy Seabee fresh from the vast Pacific, came home to New York with an idea. He was going to build thousands of homes Veterans could afford.

Mass production home building wasn’t anything new for Levitt & Sons. It built homes for U.S. Navy personnel in Norfolk, Virginia, and also had a long history of luxury home building in the New York area. It has been said Henry Ford invented the automobile assembly line. Bill Levitt invented the home assembly line in reverse. Instead of product moving from worker to worker with specific tasks, workers moved from product to product. This made homes plentiful and affordable. Buyers lined up for a shot at home ownership.

Levitt & Sons built its first community out on Long Island outside of New York, erecting more than 17,000 homes before moving on to suburban Philadelphia in Bucks County and on the other side of Philly in New Jersey where thousands of home emerged from the dirt. Dozens of Levitt communities would follow from as far away as Chicago, Florida, Puerto Rico, and even France.

The prosperity wouldn’t last. Faced with a very competitive market, Levitt chose to sell out to ITT, losing his shirt in the process. The Levitt name would survive. Bill Levitt would ultimately be out of the home building business.

A Levitt & Sons classic Cape Cod in the suburban Washington, D.C. community of Belair At Bowie, Maryland – one of seven models available in the 1960s. This was Levitt’s first venture outside of New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey.

Whatever happened to the dream of home ownership, and why are very few young people unable to buy that first home today? We are in a different day and age under different circumstances than we were 60 years ago. Young people face huge obstacles in an environment of rising home prices, higher mortgage rates, supply and demand, and enormous personal debt loads.

I bought my first home at age 21 when I was in the USAF in an isolated region of Oklahoma for $19,000 in 1977, which was remarkably low compared to real estate in more populated urban areas. Comparable suburban homes would have been upwards of $25,000 to $35,000, which would have been beyond my means.

The American Dream remains. How to get there today is anyone’s guess.

We just can’t get enough of Lucy. “I Love Lucy” has been a global phenomenon for nearly 75 years. It has been on the air continuously for three-quarters of a century without pause ever since she dethroned Milton Berle as the king of prime-time television in 1951.

“I Love Lucy” aired on CBS from October 15, 1951, until May 6, 1957, when it segued into “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” as one-hour specials from 1957 to 1960, with a lineup of familiar guest stars who wanted to be seen. It returned during the 1960s as a series of one-hour summer special reruns that aired in CBS prime time.

Regardless of how many times I watch “I Love Lucy,” I can’t quit laughing. I am not always sure the generations following us feel the same way about Lucy. Those of us who grew up with “I Love Lucy” understand the humor. My grandfather, born in 1894, hated “I Love Lucy.” I suspect he didn’t care for the humble housewife getting the best of her husband. Yet, Lucy and Ricky (husband Desi Arnaz) were a “Spy-vs-Spy” adventure because she always got caught and Ricky responded with, “You got some splainin’ to do…”

It was a great battle of the sexes and a timeless situation comedy.

Though Lucy remained high in the ratings, it began to slide as the show’s producers attempted to make the series more viewable. By the fifth season, with a brief stint in Hollywood, extended trips to Europe and Japan, and a move to Connecticut, it had become decidedly stale and had run its course.

What made “I Love Lucy” so successful was the extraordinary combination of great comedic acting, writing, direction, and Desi’s three-camera approach to filming. With the three edited together, this approach worked with fluid precision.

“I Love Lucy” displaced Milton Berle as the most-watched television show in the United States during its network run in the 1950s. It remained on top of the Nielson ratings for four of its six seasons. What’s more, “I Love Lucy” has been syndicated in multiple languages around the world. It remains popular, especially with boomers, to the tune of 40 million viewers every year.

This popular sitcom was the first scripted TV show burned on 35mm film in front of a studio audience. It won five Emmy awards as a result. Audience poles have often said “I Love Lucy” is the best show of all time. No matter how we are feeling, rain or shine, “I Love Lucy” remains the go-to sitcom when we are bored out of our minds and sick of the news.

The show’s producers did “Lucy” so well that we fell into believing we were looking at a New York tenement apartment when, in reality, “I Love Lucy” was shot on a modest sound stage on Cahuenga Blvd (Desilu-Cahuenga) at the north end of Hollywood. It was aired live on TV while also being recorded on 35mm film. Desi’s approach to business kept the Lucy phenomenon rolling for decades. It continues to pay dividends 70 years later. Audience response enhanced the viewing experience. The “Uh-Oh” response you hear periodically throughout the episodes was Lucille Ball’s mother seated in the audience.

Lucy’s segue into the early 1960s with “The Lucy Show” and “Here’s Lucy” later on in 1967 enjoyed healthy ratings, though it seemed a lot of Americans had had their fill of Lucy. I believe what made Lucy successful in the 1960s was a balance of great comedic actors and America’s neurotic need for more Lucy. The storylines just didn’t compare with “I Love Lucy” in the 1950s. They were just out of ideas.

“The Lucy Show” in the early 1960s.

Though I am not a psychologist, it is my belief Lucille Ball just could get enough of the spotlight. She embraced it and pushed the limits of stardom. When “The Lucy Show” wore out its welcome, they resorted to nepotism, bringing in daughter Lucy and son Desi along with the great talents of Gale Gordon. It was Gordon’s great comedic abilities that made these rather lame episodes sizzle.

If I had the chance to reinvent Lucy after “I Love Lucy,” I would not have had Lucy as Lucille Carmichael and Vivian as Vivian Bagley. That approach was weak right from the start with widowed women with children. I would have recast Lucy and Vivian as Lucy Ricardo and Ethyl Mertz – in a new post-Ricky and Fred sitcom as either divorced or widowed women. Because divorce was taboo at the time, being widowed would have been the best option. William Frawley went on to star in “My Three Sons” as “Bub” in 1960. Lucy and Desi had divorced, which swiftly eliminated the “I Love Lucy” option. Desi stayed on as producer, replaced by her second husband, Gary Morton in the 1960s.

What made “The Lucy Show” a knockout was comedic actor Gale Gordon as her boss Mr. Mooney. As you might imagine, Lucy drove Mooney crazy, much as she did Ricky in “I Love Lucy.”

Great Comedic Actor, Gale Gordon.

The storylines, direction, and acting lost momentum in the absence of fresh ideas, making “The Lucy Show” a crashing bore, yet with enviable ratings. “The Lucy Show” continued until 1967 when Lucy was reinvented with “Here’s Lucy.” I am convinced the real success of a re-invented Lucy was the support of great comedic actors who made these shows worth watching. The list of great character actors was endless.

When the entire Lucy phenomenon had passed, Hollywood returned with “Life With Lucy” in the 1980s alongside time-proven Gale Gordon, who still made us laugh. He was still on top of his game some 13 years after “Here’s Lucy” wrapped. Lucille Ball’s last hurrah was the made-for-TV movie “Stone Pillow” where her acting ability was put to the test. Her performance was remarkable.

Despite all of the feelings we have about Lucille Ball, she still makes us laugh and will continue to do so for decades to come.

Although I am bound to get arguments on this one, I believe there has never been a better commentator than the late Paul Harvey. His powerful voice could be heard on radio and television from coast to coast for the better part of six decades.

We couldn’t wait to listen.

Harvey was a valuable source for workplace and living room discussions. His “News and Comment” broadcast on weekdays and Saturdays reached 24 million listeners on 1,200 radio stations from 1951 to 2008. His broadcasts were heard on 400 American Forces Networks radio stations aired to millions of service members. If that wasn’t enough and you didn’t have a radio, you could read his words in 300 newspapers across the land.

Tulsa, Oklahoma born Paul Harvey Aurandt arrived on the planet September 4, 1918 – born with a God-given voice for broadcasting. It got our attention. We just couldn’t stop listening – even when we didn’t agree with him. Harvey was a true conservative, yet he observed all sides of a story.

He never played sides.

“Stand By For News!” and “The Rest of The Story…”

Harvey’s interest in broadcasting began with building radio receivers as a young teen. One of his high school teachers was so inspired by his powerful voice that she suggested he pursue a career in broadcasting. His first job was building maintenance custodian at KVOO radio in his native Tulsa in 1933. He watched what good broadcasters did and honed his broadcasting skills accordingly. Harvey’s launch pad was filling in for broadcasters who couldn’t get to a microphone. He had a natural ability to speak with great clarity and perfect diction. He knew how to keep us hanging on his every word with the extended pregnant pause.

Harvey’s journey with KVOO continued while he was in college at the University of Tulsa. He became program director at KVOO before moving on to KFBI (later KFDI) in Wichita, with a broad reach across the vast prairie. Harvey’s career path became swift, landing him at KOMA in Oklahoma City, and later KXOK in St. Louis by the end of the 1930s. He learned the ropes of radio broadcasting at these stations where his mentors molded him for a lifetime of broadcasting.

As World War II unfolded in two theatres a world apart, Harvey found himself on Oahu in the Pacific in the wake of Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor to cover news and events of the vast Pacific. Harvey enlisted in the United States Army, serving a short time in 1943-44 before getting a medical discharge and a return to civilian life.

Harvey’s post-war career took him to Chicago and WENR, an ABC radio affiliate. At WENR, he hosted “Jobs For G.I. Joe,” which was a valuable service for Veterans who had served, only to come out of the military to unemployment lines and no place to live. His voice was reassuring for those who were struggling with the culture shock of post-war life. Harvey’s “The Rest of The Story…” was a natural addition to news stories that required additional clarification.

Harvey remained with ABC Radio through the 1940s and ’50s, cutting his teeth as a respected broadcaster. Sometimes, opportunities arise where we never expected to find them. Harvey filled in for veteran broadcaster H.R. Baukhage’s daily news round-up. ABC immediately replaced him with Paul Harvey on the daily broadcast.

In April of 1951, ABC News changed Baukhage’s “Daily News Round-Up” broadcast name to “Paul Harvey News and Comment,” and the world of radio broadcasting changed overnight. Harvey found himself on television by November of the following year where he gained his momentum.

Harvey’s success would endure for decades. He continued without interruption until his passing in 2009. In later years, Harvey did his broadcasts with help from his son, Paul Harvey, Jr. Harvey began to suffer from health issues that kept his voice off the air intermittently in the 2000s.

ABC News, so inspired by the great success of Harvey’s broadcasts, signed a 10-year, $100 million contract to remain on its networks. When Harvey couldn’t regularly deliver broadcasts, he looked to credible people who could deliver his message – Senator Fred Thompson (also an actor), his son, Harvey, and other notable celebrities filled in when he couldn’t speak. When Harvey passed in 2009. ABC News canceled his program. No one could fill his enormous shoes.

It can be safely said Harvey was inspired by great broadcasters. He’d listen to radio and television news and molded his style after the best storytellers. His intoxicating style kept us all in front of the radio when radio’s time had long passed.

Boomers like to wax nostalgic about the good old days. We had our youth and dreamed of the future.

We didn’t have our grandchildren…

It isn’t often I like to write about my own life because few really want to hear about it. I’ve had good fortune. I have also lived through tough times where I never thought I’d make it. I was weak when I needed to be strong. Yet – I’ve grown stronger from tough times and used these experiences to help others. It feels good to be supportive of others through tough times so they may become stronger – knowing someone cared. Makes the heart happy.

Among my blessings are my children – all grown – and my grandchildren. I’ve navigated tough times with my grown children through effective communication and forgiveness, with forgiveness being a key component. I am also a late-in-life parent with an adopted son coming of age in high school. He arrived when I was 52.

I’ve never been a great father, but I’ve learned a lot from poor judgment and decisions I’d like a second shot at again. Hindsight is always 20/20. I have a lot to answer for – and yet my family stands by me to this day.

This is what love is.

Grandsons Everett, Braden, Elton, and Avery during a recent visit to Tennessee. LEGOs remote control toys, and video games. The things boys are made of.

The toughest part about raising children and grandchildren is – they don’t stay this way for very long. With the fluid precision of time, they grow up, become independent, evolve into adults, and move on. They start families and get on with their lives. If you are very blessed, they stick around and still want your company.

As parents, we tend to forget our primary purpose – to care for, mentor, and raise responsible human beings and to bolster them with love. I believe children should never have to worry.

They must come first.

My mother was an excellent example of how to help a child feel safe. My grandfather – her father – set the same example. He was a retired law enforcement officer who understood consequences. He showed us love and security. However, when he glared at you across a room, you’d better walk away clean. He never spanked us once. One look was all it took.

I was raised by good people who knew how to set a proper example. They practiced what they preached, even when it was no fun. Being a good parent is doing the things you’d rather not do. It also means tough love – allowing your children to suffer the consequences of their decisions so they don’t have to go through worse later on.

The hard part about tough love is what it does to you deep inside. Every time I’ve ever had to really punish my kids, watched their tears, listened to their words, it has always allowed me to examine my own judgment. Was it too harsh? Will it have long-term consequences? Are they going to hate me?

Oh yes – they are always going to hate us but will hopefully thank us in time.

Grandson, Truitt, born in March. Remarkable how much he resembles his father (my son, Brendan), my mother, my grandfather, and my late uncle.

It is impossible to reflect upon the 1970s without thinking of the short-lived disco era. People either loved it or had no use for it. In the mid-1970s, I had no opinion. I walked into an old-fashioned, small-town Oklahoma movie theatre and watched.

More recently, I sat down and watched “Saturday Night Fever” before writing this week’s Boomer Journey to gain inspiration. “Saturday Night Fever” was challenging to watch, if not sickening. It was that bad.

Although “Saturday Night Fever” was a phenomenal hit, earning over $85 million at the box office, with 40 million copies of the Bee Gees soundtrack sold, with a Grammy for “Album of the Year,” it never did it for me.

There are so many really bad Brooklyn cliches throughout that it becomes nauseating to watch. So many exaggerated Brooklyn accents from proven actors that it becomes nearly impossible to watch. None of these talented actors captures the Brooklyn accent authentically. No one in Brooklyn speaks that way.

The “pussy finger” comment from Travolta – at best – was tacky.

Despite the obvious issues, “Saturday Night Fever” put Sweat Hog John Travolta (Welcome Back Kotter) on the map, though his portrayal of a Texas shit kicker oil roughneck in “Urban Cowboy” in 1980 did its share of damage. “I luv ya Sissy….I know I’m prideful…” OMG!!!

Makes you want vomit in a bowl of Texas Chilly.

“Urban Cowboy” countered the great success of “Saturday Night…” though it didn’t do much damage to Travolta’s acting career. “Urban Cowboy” was to country music line dancing what “Saturday Night” was to disco. Although Travolta’s Tony Manero character in “Fever” was a bit overdone, it worked, and it put him in the spotlight as a rising actor. “Saturday Night Fever” was a launch pad for a promising young actor who got an Academy Award Nomination.

Englewood, New Jersey-born Travolta knew how to be Tony Manero. He became the character, embodying the very soul of a young buck coming of age in Brooklyn. He appeared soulless yet cared for his friends. He didn’t soft soap anything. He was to the point and told it like it was. He’d take a punch for any of them. His love-struck sidekick, Annette, (Donna Pescow) was someone he looked out for. He protected her and had the opportunity to take advantage of her in the back seat of a ’64 Chevy hardtop – yet didn’t take the bait. His friends were not that kind.

A lot of us can relate to Tony Manero and his circle of buddies. Tony was searching for purpose and a future. There wasn’t much promise in the future as these working-class people gazed across the East River at the promise of Manhattan. The skyscrapers of Manhattan shadowed by the twin towers of the World Trade Center were where a promising future was. Tony wanted that badly.

“Saturday Night Fever” didn’t sidestep social issues of the times then or now. There was racism, sexual assault, and economic recession a lot of us can relate to. If you’re reading this column, you grew up in those times and can understand the theme of what would otherwise be a boring dance film.

That said, what made “Saturday Night Fever” so successful?

It has been said the Bee Gees’ soundtrack epitomized the disco era – symbolic of this fleeting media phenomenon. The disco era came and went – swiftly, yet we remember it vividly.

I would lay a wager that this soundtrack album still sells.

I personally think the Bee Gees soundtrack contributed greatly to the film’s success. It was also a recipe of the things that make a movie successful – John Travolta’s performance, the musical pinnacle of the disco era, and the future of young people coming of age in an oppressive Brooklyn. Hope and dreams that didn’t appear would ever be realized. So many wound up working stiffs with a half-century of the urban grind ahead of them. It was a storyline a lot of us could relate to.

The good news for rising actor, John Travolta, was – this film thrust the native New Yorker into stardom (despite “Urban Cowboy”) and a string of successful flicks to follow. Travolta honed his craft and became a phenomenal actor. Other stars, like Donna Pescow, Karen Lynn Gorney, Barry Miller, Joseph Cali, Martin Shaker, and a host of others got their start in “Saturday Night Fever” and moved on to other venues in the years to follow. “Stayin’ Alive” was a logical follow-up to “Saturday Night,” but the concept had pretty much passed its prime.

If you’re like a lot of us, you remember the time quite well, no matter where you grew up and came of age at the time. “Saturday Night Fever” enabled us to watch, absorb, and take a look at our own lives.

Class reunions are the darnedest thing, as are our memories of high school a half-century ago. I graduated from high school 50 years ago. I will admit to you that I was a terrible student. How I graduated from high school remains a mystery, especially when I examine my report card from 1975. I think they gave me a pass just to get rid of me – or maybe it was out of sympathy (or fear) because holding me back for another year of education was unthinkable.

I was one of those awkward kids who didn’t fit in. There was the “in” crowd – the jocks and the cheerleaders – and those who appeared on “It’s Academic,” a local high school whiz kid quiz game show. I was the face you couldn’t find in the crowd. I was among the dorks and geeks who mingled together alone in the lunchroom whose names would never be remembered. I don’t know where any of my high school buddies are today. We hung together for a time following high school, then – one by one – went our separate ways.

My 50th high school reunion just passed. Nothing against anyone, please understand. However, I learned early on at my 10th high school reunion that I had very little in common with anyone I attended high school with. I approached the 50th reunion with the same mindset. I wasn’t likely to have anything in common with anyone then either. Were it not for name tags, I wouldn’t recognize anyone.

We have changed a lot in 50 years.

I do have some observations from some of the reunions I’ve seen in recent times. What’s with pom-poms and cheerleaders who never left high school? They still perceive they are pom poms. I will add there is appropriate attire for a class reunion, and there are outfits best left in the closet. As you age, avoid wearing the clothing you wore in high school. Ladies, leave your sleeveless articles at home. And remember, short skirts and open shoulders just don’t work visually when you are approaching 70.

And gentlemen – don’t come to a class reunion in a worn and faded Jimi Hendrix or Grateful Dead tee shirt and rip-torn jeans. Don’t embarrass your significant other by looking like you just walked out of an auto repair shop or a tractor pull.

Got it, everyone?

Dress appropriately for the occasion and remember – you are not 18 anymore.

Then comes the awkward issue of what to talk about 50 years later. If you haven’t seen anyone since the Bicentennial, what on earth do you talk about? Worse yet, there’s always the schmuck who won’t wear a name tag and that uncomfortable moment when the person walks up and says, “Hey, Jimbo – been a long time!” and you haven’t the faintest idea who they are. Politics is best avoided, considering the divided nature of our country right now. You could wind up with a high school cafeteria-style fist fight just like old times.

Reunions can be a wonderful thing, reuniting old friends and acquaintances we haven’t seen in a long time. They also have to be put into perspective. We’ve all been on life’s journey for a long time.

We have each experienced life-changing events. Bask in the moment and embrace the memories and each other – and keep on keeping on.

Do you remember when life stretched out infinitely ahead of us – when old age was way off in the future – not even worth thinking about?

There would be time.

Time passes with fluid precision without prejudice. Never take it personally.

It just is…

I suppose time is an element of our own minds. It owns us. Is there really such a thing as time? Time is a man-made invention that’s more mental than physical. The earth turns. We orbit the sun. The sun and our solar system make their way through the galaxy. The galaxy makes its way through the universe. We are constantly in motion through the cosmos. We’re always on the move, so why be concerned about time? Enjoy the ride aboard the good ship Earth until God comes calling and then consider how far we’ve traveled since we were young.

Bask in the wisdom we have gained.

I think the speed of time is mental. It is all in our heads. Does a day pass any faster for you than it does for me? I believe the busier we are, the faster time goes. And, when we are idle, time drags on.

When we were sitting in class 50-60 years ago, bored, listening to our educators, watching a Simplex clock journey through a school day one minute at a time, time passed slowly. I remember those older Simplex clocks when the minute hand leaped from one minute to the next. Do you remember that?

What’s more – we looked at the calendar…with days and weeks yet to come.

When we were young, we wished time away with reckless abandon. If only we had thought for a moment that time moved with or without our attention to time-keeping devices. Each day gone was a day closer to our own mortality.

Throughout our lives, we’ve watched others pass and wondered of our own mortality. Every funeral or celebration of life of a loved one has been a lesson in our own mortality. We’ve quietly thought about what it is like to die, gazing into a silent casket or a photograph, wondering when it will be our turn in the box.

Admit it. You’ve thought of it.

For decades, I feared my mother’s passing. She was my lifeline and emotional support system. When she did eventually pass at the age of 84 from a long journey through dementia, I felt a sense of relief, knowing she was finally at peace.

I’ve missed her terribly.

Dunno about you, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve become less and less concerned about my eventual passing. Please understand, I don’t want to die right now. I have plenty left to live for. However, I am unafraid of dying. Reason being, everyone who walks this earth will become a memory – a void – in time, so how bad can it be?

Your birth certificate ensures your death certificate.

The best advice I can offer anyone is to make the most of the life you’ve been handed and have left. Choose life. And ask yourself how you can best serve others. When you serve others, it manifests itself as a sense of inner peace – knowing you’ve made a difference that is felt and could be felt for generations to follow.

Every once in a while, I like to salute the great actors and film producers of our time. “The Way We Were” is an excellent example, though it doesn’t get much attention these days. “The Way We Were” was a highly acclaimed romantic drama about two conflicting personalities who fell deeply in love with each other but couldn’t live together in peace.

Sound familiar?

“The Way We Were” was an adaptation of a screenplay from Arthur Laurents’ 1972 novel, which reflected upon his college years and political issues of the times. This novel and screenplay became one of the greatest love stories of our time. I suspect a few of us can relate to it because “The Way We Were” was a reflection of ourselves – our loves, our successes, and our failures.

Boomers are surely the divorce generation, with so many of us in second and third marriages. We made it “okay” to divorce when it just wasn’t working out. By contrast, the Greatest Generation before us stayed together despite their differences and the unpopular decision to divorce.

Divorce just wasn’t discussed or done.

“The Way We Were” was a box office success, moving quite a few of us to tears as we walked out of movie theatres around the world more than 50 years ago. It was nominated for and won several Academy Awards for Best Original Dramatic Score and Best Original Song for the theme “The Way We Were,” sung by Barbra Streisand and heard around the world. “The Way We Were” was easily one of the greatest romantic films of our time. I would wager nearly every one of you has the 45 or record album in your vinyl collection.

The story begins at a college rally at the cusp of the 1930s. Katie Morosky (Barbra Streisand) caught Hubbell Gardiner’s (Robert Redford) eye with her persona and her passionate words. College ended, and both Katie and Hubbell moved into adult lives and a world war. Katie and Hubbell were both diametrically opposed – dramatically different people who lived a life of conflict from the time they met. He was conservative and carefree, and she was liberal and both serious and passionate about everything. Her life was her causes.

Hubbell was a WASPY guy who never took life too seriously – and Katie, who took everything seriously. The joy of “The Way We Were” was the authenticity. It captured the very essence of the 1930s and ’40s – the music, society, and the times. You get so lost in the plot that you forget it is 2025.

Years later, Katie rediscovers Hubbell at a New York nightclub and is immediately drawn to him. Because Katie was very forthright, she walked up to a sleeping Hubbell Gardiner, carefully balanced on a bar stool in full Navy full dress, and gently corrected his hair. This was who Katie was. She worked tirelessly to fix things she perceived as needing correction – even when they didn’t need correcting. She wanted him to care the way she did and be as passionate as she was. Her expectations of Hubbell and his circle of friends were never realistic.

The story follows their lives to Hollywood and a very different and certainly affluent lifestyle. While Hubbell finds comfort in a Hollywood lifestyle, Katie believes his enormous talent is being wasted in film. As the 1950s and McCarthyism unfolded and began to adversely affect their lives, her political activism returned, endangering his career. When Katie and others began confronting Washington over free speech, it began straining their marriage – which wound up in divorce.

Although fiction, perhaps Katie and Hubbell can serve as a lesson for a lot of us. As we journey through life, we learn something important about ourselves – and more importantly, the person we’ve chosen to spend life with.

Like life, “The Way We Were” wasn’t a perfect love story.

Do you remember the cure for boredom when we were growing up?

A day at the airport…

Such was the case for most of us. It gave parents a break and gave us something to do to while away the time. That never happened when I was growing up. The airport was for the departure and arrival of my father when he traveled internationally during his 35-year career with the National Security Agency (NSA). He traveled the Northern hemisphere, and we were always there for the sendoff and return – sometimes in the wee hours of the morning.

Seems airports have become departure and arrival only places, especially since the 9/11 attacks of 2001. If you’re not flying, they don’t want you in the building. Perhaps I am being cynical, but I think we’ve gone overboard with airport security in the years since. Going to the airport has become such a drag. The reason being Britain never allowed terrorism to deter them from tradition. Brits line fences and populate air parks next to airports where patrons can listen to ATC chatter and document airframes – and they’re mighty good at it.

The British have been notoriously passionate about rail transportation and aviation, and they’ve never wavered. Go to nearly any major airport in Britain and you will see dozens with binoculars and camaras capturing the action. Law enforcement is always there to keep a close eye on enthusiasts and would-be troublemakers, should anyone exhibit life-threatening behavior. They turn out in good weather and bad, enjoying the freedoms they currently have.

Whatever happened to this pastime in the US?

We’ve lost the freedom to do it.

My high school sweetheart, Robin Kramer, and I were at the Riverdale Theatre in suburban Maryland outside of D.C., taking in Irwin Allen’s “The Towering Inferno” in the winter of 1974-75. I was so obsessed with this action/adventure movie that we went to see it 11 times! I became obsessed with skyscrapers of all kinds and had a curiosity about fire in a skyscraper – everyone’s worst nightmare. The enormity of tall buildings and what it took to design and build them was awe-inspiring to me.

Growing up in Washington, D.C., I had to see something taller than a 30-story high-rise, even though we had the Washington Monument, 26 miles away on the National Mall, at 555 feet in height. Ironically, I had never been to the top of the Washington Monument. It just didn’t seem like a skyscraper.

In the summer of 1975, Robin and I hit the road for New York to see some really big buildings. We were on our way to New Hampshire to visit my cousin and just happened to be passing through New York. I looked down the Hudson River to the south as we were crossing the George Washington Bridge, and there they were – twin towers of 110 stories each in glistening stainless steel.

On our way back through New York, I decided to exit I-95 at the Hudson just short of the GW and head down the West Side to the towers. They loomed big on the horizon and were larger than life. When Robin and I pulled up in front of Tower 1, it reached to the heavens a quarter of a mile into the sky like I had never seen. I wanted so badly to know what it felt like to be on top, close to the clouds.

The following summer, I’d find out.

The Observation Deck on top of Tower 2 opened to the public in the summer of 1976. The pamphlet said, “It’s Hard To Be Down When You’re Up – The Observation Deck at the World Trade Center…” Robin and I and a friend of hers flew to New York and beat a path to the towers from Midtown. We boarded the elevator, which was larger than any room in my home, and rode this high-speed vertical transporter to 107 at a 23 mph clip in one minute. It was so fast it made your ears pop.

Escalators took you to the rooftop observation deck, which was startling because Tower 1 seemed so far away on the ground and was very imposing when you were on top of Tower 2. On 107, you could look straight down in any direction. On top, you could see for miles. They told us that on a clear winter day, you could see the Poconos 80 miles away in Pennsylvania. I still wonder if that was true. Nonetheless, it was the first time I’d ever stood on top of a building one quarter of a mile in the sky. I recall seeing a Boeing 727 climbing out of JFK so close you felt like you could touch it.

What made the World Trade Center distinctive was its “twin tower” status. Appropriately spaced and positioned diagonally, they could be seen for miles. When we were heading north on the New Jersey Turnpike, you could see them way down to the south of Newark. With the GW Bridge dead ahead, you just couldn’t take your eyes off of them. They were majestic in scope and dominated the skyline. Although New Yorkers despised them, they gradually grew to love them, especially in the wake of the 1993 bombing, when New Yorkers almost lost them.

Years before September 11th, I was half-heartedly listening to a newscast while making a sandwich when it was said terrorists were planning to fly jetliners into the World Trade Center. My heart skipped several beats at the idea. I had to believe that was not possible. We were the United States, and no one would dare.

I was naive…

There’s always an enemy out there with a little more determination who could pull it off. Nineteen very committed hijackers did – much to the shock of the world in a Trojan horse moment with the power of four commercial jetliners. It was a quiet Tuesday morning when the phone rang. I was instructed to turn on the TV. We turned on the TV to a billowing Tower 1 in flames. At first, it was thought to be an accident. When a United Airlines 767 slammed into Tower 2, it was then a proven terrorist act – something I never would have believed possible.

When American Airlines Flight 11, a Boeing 767, left Boston’s Logan Airport headed for Los Angeles and vanished from the radar and headed off course for New York, the authorities sprang into action. At first, there was a lot of fumbling and confusion. The various agencies involved thought it was a drill and didn’t take it seriously. Amid the confusion, the American 767, at the hands of hijackers, was making its way south to New York. In minutes, it roared over the buildings of New York at over 400 mph and slammed into Tower 1.

Our world changed forever in seconds.

Minutes later, United Airlines Flight 175 came around from over the Jersey shore and crashed into Tower 2, stunning New Yorkers who looked skyward in utter shock. Within minutes, American Airlines Flight 77, after taking off from Dulles Airport, roared across Northern Virginia to the Pentagon, clipping light poles and startling employees in the parking lot, killing 168 people at the Department of Defense. United Airlines Flight 93, with gutsy, determined and informed passengers on board, erupted into chaos – with three passengers storming the cockpit and halting the 757’s planned journey to Washington, saving the US Capitol from total destruction and huge losses of life. These courageous human beings saved Washington that day.

We’ve never been the same despite the post 9/11 unity at the time.

When we were growing up in the 1960s, could you have ever imagined September 11, 2001? We grew up in fear of a nuclear attack with “duck and cover” in our classrooms, coupled with the Cuban Missile Crisis. Careful negotiations prevented what could have become a nuclear Armagedón in 1962.

With that knowledge, and the winning of World War II in two theatres with help from our allies, life seemed pretty secure for a time. What September 11th taught us was – anything can happen at any moment and did, teaching us to never take anything for granted. Not completely certain we learned anything.