Last December 13th, there appeared in the newspapers the juiciest, spiciest, raciest obituary it has ever been my pleasure to read.
It was that of a lady named Alma Mahler Gropius Werfel, who had, in her lifetime, managed to acquire as lovers practically all of the top creative men in central Europe. And, among these lovers, who were listed in the obituary, by the way, which is what made it so interesting, there were three whom she went so far as to marry: One of the leading composers of the day, Gustav Mahler, composer of "Das Lied von der Erde" and other light classics, one of the leading architects, Walter Gropius, of the "Bauhaus" school of design, and one of the leading writers, Franz Werfel, author of the "Song of Bernadette" and other masterpieces.
It's people like that who make you realize how little you've accomplished. It is a sobering thought, for example, that when Mozart was my age, he had been dead for two years.
Lehrer said that in 1965, when he was writing and performing for the legendary show "That Was the Week that Was." He was 37.
I'm now 52.
When he was my age, Robert E. Lee was courted by both sides of the Civil War to command their armies. Lincoln sent his cousin, Francis Blair, to talk about it so that he wouldn't be embarrassed by being rejected personally. Lee retreated to his Arlington, Virginia, home for two days, then wrote a letter to his old mentor -- and the current commander of the Federal army -- Winfield Scott, politely turning down the command for fear he would have to invade his home state of Virginia.
The actual Czar Nicholas II, from Wikimedia Commons.
I couldn't begin to afford a costume this elaborate.
Last Halloween, my costume was as Czar Nicholas II. I chose that because I bear a resemblance to the late ruler. When he was my age, like Tom Lehrer's Mozart, he had been dead for two years, killed by Bolshevik soldiers after being at the center of the most chaotic and important events the world had seen that century. Then again, he inherited.
Winston Churchill was a globally known author, soldier, and politician by the time he was 30. Of course, he was a wealthy aristocrat and a genius. At 52, in 1926, already having been in Parliament since 1900 and First Sea Lord in World War I, he was Chancellor of the Exchequer for Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin (then 59 years old), but his best years lay ahead. When he became Prime Minister himself, in 1940, he was 66.
The Duke of Wellington, Arthur Wellesley, was a true late bloomer. His first real achievement -- the victory at Seringapatam -- was not until he was 30, and his triumph at Waterloo came at age 46. He became Prime Minister at 59. At 52, Wellington was Commander-in-Chief of the army.
Dwight Eisenhower was 54 on D-Day. He was Supreme Allied Commander in Europe. However, one could be forgiven for thinking that his career was going to peak as the trusted aide to the more flamboyant Douglas MacArthur. On that June day in 1944, MacArthur was 64, commanding the island-hopping campaign in the Pacific. When he was 52, he was Chief of Staff of the Army. It was in that year that he personally commanded the troops that infamously crushed the protest of the "Bonus Army" of veterans in Washington.
George Patton was 59 on D-Day, though he would live only another year-and-a-half, dying from injuries in a car crash after surviving two wars. Bernard Montgomery was two years younger, 57, commander of the 21st Army Group, which consisted of all the Allied ground forces in the invasion. He would live to be 89, dying in 1976 as the 1st Viscount Montgomery of Alamein.
St. Norbert died at 54 ... we think. His birth year is a little fuzzy, but the estimate is 1080. By the time he died in 1134, he was the archbishop of Magdeburg, Germany, having founded a religious order, "revitalizing many of the faithful who had grown indifferent and dissolute, plus effecting peace and reconciliation among enemies," as I was informed by an email from another order, the Franciscans. June 6 is Norbert's feast day in the Catholic church.
When he was 43, St. Augustine (feast day August 28, in case you're curious) wrote, "Da mihi castitatem et continentiam, sed noli modo." (Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.) That was in his immortal Confessions, sometime around the year 397, and he does note that it was something that he would pray in his youth. At 52, he was the bishop of Hippo, in Algeria, where he remained until his death in 430, aged 76.
When he was 52, in 1996, director George Lucas was gearing up to make "The Phantom Menace," to the regret of many "Star Wars" fans. He was able to make it with his own money, having made such stupendous profits on the original "Star Wars" and "Indiana Jones" movies.
Francis Ford Coppola at 52 was working on "Bram Stoker's Dracula," having released his own Phantom Menace the year before, "Godfather III." On his shelves were two Palmes d'Or from Cannes and six Oscars. In my opinion, the jury's still out on his Dracula. One of the Oscars was for writing "Patton."
Einstein was 27 when he came up with the Theory of Relativity. At 52, he was a respected academic in Berlin. He had received the Nobel ten years earlier. However, Hitler was on the rise -- he became Chancellor in 1933, aged 44. That same year, during a trip to the US, Einstein decided to stay.
Hitler, by the way, was 52 in the year 1941. Things were actually looking pretty good for him then, but it all ended badly just four years later. Stalin, some 11 years older, was 52 in 1930, which was a pretty good year for him too. Franklin Roosevelt was older yet, 69 in 1941, 52 in 1924. (That's two years older than Churchill, for those keeping track.) At 52, he had already been the Assistant Secretary of the Navy and run for Vice President, but had recently fallen victim to polio (in 1921).
Uh, what does this mean?
Well, nothing, except that I thought of that old Tom Lehrer joke and felt like making some comparisons.
And everything, because every so often I think we all look up from the day-to-day grind and check out the Big Picture, if for no other reason than just to figure out where the hell we are. Age and the comparison to important and admired people (those are two different categories, before anyone starts wondering if I admire Hitler or Stalin) can be a useful metric of sorts, but it can also be a deceiving one. Personally, I shall continue searching for the late bloomers and Second Acts.
Dwight Eisenhower was 54 on D-Day. He was Supreme Allied Commander in Europe. However, one could be forgiven for thinking that his career was going to peak as the trusted aide to the more flamboyant Douglas MacArthur. On that June day in 1944, MacArthur was 64, commanding the island-hopping campaign in the Pacific. When he was 52, he was Chief of Staff of the Army. It was in that year that he personally commanded the troops that infamously crushed the protest of the "Bonus Army" of veterans in Washington.
George Patton was 59 on D-Day, though he would live only another year-and-a-half, dying from injuries in a car crash after surviving two wars. Bernard Montgomery was two years younger, 57, commander of the 21st Army Group, which consisted of all the Allied ground forces in the invasion. He would live to be 89, dying in 1976 as the 1st Viscount Montgomery of Alamein.
When he was 43, St. Augustine (feast day August 28, in case you're curious) wrote, "Da mihi castitatem et continentiam, sed noli modo." (Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.) That was in his immortal Confessions, sometime around the year 397, and he does note that it was something that he would pray in his youth. At 52, he was the bishop of Hippo, in Algeria, where he remained until his death in 430, aged 76.
When he was 52, in 1996, director George Lucas was gearing up to make "The Phantom Menace," to the regret of many "Star Wars" fans. He was able to make it with his own money, having made such stupendous profits on the original "Star Wars" and "Indiana Jones" movies.
Francis Ford Coppola at 52 was working on "Bram Stoker's Dracula," having released his own Phantom Menace the year before, "Godfather III." On his shelves were two Palmes d'Or from Cannes and six Oscars. In my opinion, the jury's still out on his Dracula. One of the Oscars was for writing "Patton."
Einstein was 27 when he came up with the Theory of Relativity. At 52, he was a respected academic in Berlin. He had received the Nobel ten years earlier. However, Hitler was on the rise -- he became Chancellor in 1933, aged 44. That same year, during a trip to the US, Einstein decided to stay.
Hitler, by the way, was 52 in the year 1941. Things were actually looking pretty good for him then, but it all ended badly just four years later. Stalin, some 11 years older, was 52 in 1930, which was a pretty good year for him too. Franklin Roosevelt was older yet, 69 in 1941, 52 in 1924. (That's two years older than Churchill, for those keeping track.) At 52, he had already been the Assistant Secretary of the Navy and run for Vice President, but had recently fallen victim to polio (in 1921).
Uh, what does this mean?
Well, nothing, except that I thought of that old Tom Lehrer joke and felt like making some comparisons.
And everything, because every so often I think we all look up from the day-to-day grind and check out the Big Picture, if for no other reason than just to figure out where the hell we are. Age and the comparison to important and admired people (those are two different categories, before anyone starts wondering if I admire Hitler or Stalin) can be a useful metric of sorts, but it can also be a deceiving one. Personally, I shall continue searching for the late bloomers and Second Acts.
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