In the 1900s means for communicating changed drastically. Initially, telephones were one to a house (for those who could afford them). They were connected on “party lines,” meaning that several people shared service. Anyone could listen to the conversations of anyone who had access to the line.
Not only was there no expectation of privacy in this manner, but the phone in a home was usually centrally located in the house where anyone could hear at least one end of any conversation.
Times have changed. Certain things are now expected, even demanded. When I went to my nephew’s graduation from boot camp at Paris Island, South Carolina, my family stayed in a now out-of-business motel.
Our expectations should not have been great as we were told to inspect our rooms before checking in—the business was in bankruptcy and no refunds would be issued. The facility passed our cursory examination, but things became more obvious as the night progressed.
When I slid my weary body between the sheets, I noticed their smell. Not the fresh, just-laundered fragrance one expects in a meticulously cleaned hotel room. This was the smell of age, dampness, mold and mildew. Being on the coast, I’m sure it was hard to keep humidity from affecting rooms and furnishings. But this room had the smell of a room that had housed smokers perhaps for the last time when Norman Bates was proprietor.
I could almost guarantee that I was the first person to attempt to sleep in this bed since it had been made many months before.
Sometime during the night, I felt something poking me sharply. I panicked, thinking of snakes, mice, spiders, and other dangerous, unpleasant vermin. I jumped from bed, stripped the sheets, only to find a cocklebur.
Issues with expectations in relationships can also be challenging. I remember once going out with a girl I’d admired from a distance for some time. How I worked up the nerve to ask her out is beyond me. After a few outings (I’m not sure they could legitimately have been called “dates”), I asked her if I could hold her hand. She replied, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
This was not quite what I expected. Just as expected from that point forward, however, my expectation that a meaningful relationship would not be forthcoming proved all too true.
Dating has its challenges. Marriage has many, many more. Whatever the arrangement, some people enter marriage with low expectations for happiness and success. The parties are protected by such things as prenuptial agreements. A running back was purportedly asked why his marriage ceremony was held before noon. He replied, “Because if it didn’t work out, I didn’t want to blow the whole day.”
There is also a question of life expectancy of modern appliances and entertainment devices. Not long ago, I heard of a lady who needed repairs made to her refrigerator. She sought the advice of a local repairman, one of the few still to be found in the general public who was not affiliated with a company or organization. He asked the lady how long it had been since her refrigerator was purchased new. She replied about seven years.
The repairman told her that was pretty much the life expectancy of that particular brand of appliance, and that she would be better off to replace the entire appliance than to keep making repairs every few months to replace parts that were nearing the end of their useful life.
More frightening to consider is human life expectancy. Alexander Hamilton is quoted as having said, “Nobody expects to trust his body much after the age of fifty.”
How disposable is mankind becoming? Are the chances of getting a liver transplant less at age 70 than age 20? At age 20, a human can be expected to have 50 potential years of work and life expectancy, during which time taxes are paid to governments to keep the (in)disposable services/society in business. At age 70, most workers would be entering or nearing retirement, during which portion of their lives they would be drawing from government funds to sustain them in old age, the very funds to which they had contributed for the greater part of half a century.
Dear Reader, I leave you this week with a (possibly somewhat embellished) story shared with me by my dear friend, the late Sharon McDonald. It seems there was once in the rural area of Kentucky a new kindergarten teacher, Miss Meek. She was a small, petite, very attractive, soft-spoken lady, just the kind that stereotypically one would expect to teach small children. The district in which she taught was in one of the state’s most poverty-stricken areas, which explained in part why her classroom was in a portable building unattached to the main school.
One day after school an angry parent came to her classroom door. Miss Meek recognized him as Mr. Stark, young Penny Stark’s father. This six-foot-tall gentleman with the flaming red face was somewhat intimidating to the young teacher, but she understood and expected that in teaching one sometimes encountered disgruntled parents. She was of the firm belief, however, that most misunderstandings could be resolved if teachers listened to parents and tried to understand the reasons for the controversy. With such a spirit the teacher engaged the parent in conversation.
“Yes, sir, may I help you?” she politely inquired.
“Woman, you’re a sorry excuse for a teacher. You’re not fit to even stand in front of these innocent children,” the man bellowed. He ran his thumbs up and down his overall galluses, possibly to prevent himself from reaching out to do the young teacher harm, she thought.
“Sir, I don’t understand why you are so upset. Come in and let’s sit down and talk about it.”
“I wouldn’t lower myself to sit down alone in a room with a trashy woman like you!” he screamed.
“What causes you to feel this way?” she questioned.
“The dirty things you say to these young’uns, you ain’t fit for decent folk!” he declared.
“Sir, I assure you, I have never said a dirty thing to any child in my entire life, not even when I was a child,” Miss Meek stated.
“Well, you must not have had decent raisin’, if you think what you say is good talk!”
“What is it I said?” Miss Meek asked.
“I’m ashamed to say it in front of a woman, even if that so-called woman is a thing such as yourself.”
Miss Meek persisted until finally Mr. Stark muttered through clenched teeth, “Did you or did you not tell these children that you were going to bring a sack of peters in here and show it to them?”
It is a wonder that Mr. Stark did not attack Miss Meek, for when he said this she doubled over in laughter. She laughed until she cried and had to sit in the floor. The only thing that kept Mr. Stark in check was his amazement that Miss Meek found her outrage funny. Her reaction was not what he expected.
When she regained her composure, Miss Meek said to Mr. Stark, “Oh, Mr. Stark, that’s not what I said. I told them that tomorrow I was going to introduce them to a set of encyclopedias.”
Answer to Question of the Week #13
What does a man do to relax his wife? Rubberneck.
Question of the Week #14
What is the seafood store owner’s biggest character flaw? (See next week’s article on historicunioncounty.com for the answer.)